Ningen
by Tenshi no Toki
Summary: -Prequel to Ningyo- Bakura, a corrupt physician, finds himself drawn to one of the servers from a popular cafe, the stubborn Malik. However, a violent murder sets off a series of events that cause their separate lives to slowly come together. BxM, MxM
1. The Way We Were

**Ningen **

**Summary:** (Prequel to Ningyo) Bakura, a corrupt physician, finds himself drawn to one of the servers from a popular cafe, the sweet yet stubborn Malik. However, a violent murder sets off a series of events that cause their separate lives to slowly come together.

**Rated:** T

**Genre:** Romance/Mystery

**Author's Note:** Even though this is a _prequel_, I think you'd get more enjoyment reading **Ningyo** first, because a lot of things in _this_ story will make you go "OH!" and "AH-HA!" and "SO THAT'S WHAT THAT MEANT!" and that's always fun, isn't it? I also won't spend a lot of time on what was already revealed in **Ningyo**, so...I really think you should read that first. It's short anyway.

**Disclaimer: **Yuugiou and all related characters belong to Kazuki Takahashi. Malik's soul, however, is all mine.

-

**1 – The Way We Were**

Amane watched as her older brother tightened the last screw on a project he had been working on for nearly nine weeks, twisting the screwdriver until his fingers started to quiver. With a sigh, the fair haired doctor turned his creation right-side up, revealing an extremely lifelike robotic chick, small enough to fit into her hand. After pressing a concealed button under the creature's yellow fluff, the small toy came to life, chirping and hopping across the table energetically, much to the youngest Kagami's delight.

"Oh, it's so _cute_ Bakura!"

"And it doesn't need to eat or poop, which means you can have a pet, and Ryou can have what's left of his sanity." The elder sibling said smartly.

"Very funny," his twin pouted, shoving the other playfully. The twenty-four year old brothers, while very similar, had slight differences that made it easy to tell them apart. For one thing, Ryou was younger (by three minutes), shorter and had a more innocent look than Bakura, who always seemed very intense. Both had stark white hair, though Bakura's looked somewhat 'sharper' than his brother's. The most notable difference was their personalities, which were clearly polar opposites.

"I wouldn't have minded a real chick..." Ryou continued. "I might've been able to make some fantastic stew in about five month's time..."

"Ryou!" Amane whined, hazel eyes watering.

"I'm only joking," he laughed, allowing the chick to perch on his finger. "This is really good Bakura. You should consider a job in the toy industry if you ever get fed up with all those patients." The bird hopped towards Amane, who nearly crushed it in excitement.

"I got fed up with patients a long time ago," Bakura grumbled, sweeping his tools back into an already disorganized drawer. "If the money wasn't so good I'd have quit after the hundredth eventual widow _begged_ me to keep their comatose spouse on life support..."

Ryou elbowed him irritably, nodding towards their younger sister. "Not in front of Amane."

"Yes, because complaining is a horrible thing for a fourteen-year-old to witness."

"She's _sixteen_," the shorter twin scolded. "I know you're not exactly a people person, but you're good at your job. If it means dealing with a few overbearing wives–"

"And husbands, and children, and neighbors, and LAWYERS..."

"_Bakura_," Ryou said reasonably, "if you hate it that much, then just quit. Sure _this_ sort of thing doesn't make as much, but..."

"And that's all you care about isn't it?" Bakura hissed, making sure Amane had gone upstairs. "You always say I'm free to do whatever I want, but then you tack on 'we'll just be poor again' at the end and guilt me into staying."

"I'm not trying to guilt you into anything, I'm just stating the facts."

"Here's an idea; why don't _you_ go to _college_ so you can make more than minimum wage?"

Ryou turned a bright shade of red and looked away, fighting the urge to smack his older brother.

"...You know I would have if I didn't have to take care of Amane."

"Well it's been seven years, she can take care of herself now," Bakura snorted, making sure there weren't any more metal scraps left under the table. "So what's your new excuse?"

"Bakura!"

"Look, just stop putting all this pressure on me and let me enjoy my damn day off."

"You aren't smarter than I am you know," Ryou said suddenly, cheeks still pink. "If mom had told you to take care of her instead, then I would've been the one making the money."

"But she didn't."

"But she could have."

"But she _didn't_."

"But she could have!"

"Okay." Bakura shrugged, moving to leave the basement.

"What do you mean _okay_?" Ryou protested.

"If mom told _me_ to take care of Amane instead, then you would've just as easily gotten the same scholarships as I had to pay for college. Oh, and you could've worked for six days a week to make up for the rest while still managing to finish med school two years early. Yup. We're totally equal." A sarcastic sneer. "That's what you want me to say, right?"

"You're such an asshole," the younger twin whispered.

"Careful; if you kill me, I won't be able to make any more money."

Ryou shook his head, fighting back tears. "I'd rather be poor than have to deal with your stupid, egotistical attitude for another minute."

"I'm sure," Bakura replied, still wearing that condescending smile. "You want to eat out tonight? I didn't see any food in the fridge."

The other sighed. Yet another emotional roller coaster shut down by an ill-timed change of subject. He really hated feeling so much resentment towards Bakura. Growing up Ryou had always been the better student, while his brother coasted through, satisfied with getting passing grades, too lazy to aim any higher. However, their mother had given the younger twin the responsibility of raising the then nine-year-old Amane before she had passed away. With Ryou anchored down by the young girl, Bakura was forced to step up and work harder, his already harsh personality getting more difficult to deal with. It was Bakura that got them to where they were today. It was Bakura who worked day and night to gain the reputation as a short-tempered yet highly skilled doctor. But Ryou clung to the belief that he could've done it too, if things had just gone a little differently. Call it bitterness, call it jealousy, call it whatever you wanted. But he refused to let it go.

"Are you coming upstairs or are you just going to sit there and glower for the rest of the day?" The older twin called out, leaning against the door.

"I'm coming," Ryou muttered, climbing the stairs, still looking down.

"You know Amane was telling me about a new cafe that opened up a few weeks ago," Bakura said conversationally, pretending the argument never happened. "I think it was called Honey Milk."

"Oh, I've heard of it... I don't think it's a place for kids though..."

"She's fourteen."

"_Sixteen_, and even then, she's still a kid," Ryou insisted.

"Killjoy."

"Maybe you and I can go check it out sometime...just to make sure."

"That's fine, but I was planning on eating _tonight_."

"There's always McDonalds..."

"Ugh."

"Or I can whip something up," Ryou suggested. "There's this recipe I've wanted to try out; all I need are some clams, an ounce of provolone, a bit of liver, and a few sprigs of parsley–"

"_UGH_."

"Okay fine, let's go somewhere," the younger twin grumbled. "Nowhere too expensive though."

"Alright, how about–"

Their conversation was interrupted by an electronic chime from Bakura's back pocket, followed by an uncomfortable vibration. The twins exchanged exasperated glances before the taller of the two placed his head onto the kitchen counter and moaned, the melody beginning to repeat itself.

"You should answer it," Ryou said sympathetically, poking the other's shoulder.

"Answer what? _I_ don't hear anything."

"Someone could be dying..."

"It's a hospital, that's why people go there."

"Bakura! That's not true at all!" The younger twin screeched, blushing once again. "If they're calling you then it must a problem only you'd know how to–"

"There are thirty other doctors there," his brother whined. "I'm not the only one who knows how to use those little...electric shock paddle...things."

"Defibrillators?"

"There we go."

"Maybe it's not the hospital?"

"Let's pretend it's not."

"You might get in trouble..."

"I don't care. Ooh, let's have Italian tonight!"

"Uh..."

A high pitched beep sounded after the tune ended, signaling that a text message was sent instead.

"Wonder who this is," Bakura muttered grumpily, flipping his cell open. "Blah, blah, blah, administered morphine, blah, blah, hasn't been able to keep anything down, blah, blah, same shit, blah." He closed the phone with a snap. "Well that was fun. So, Italian okay with you?"

"But–"

"Or would you prefer Japanese? Though all the stuff around here's pretty Americanized," the older twin said disdainfully. "I'm sure I could make a more authentic meal...and I don't even know what ponzu is. I dunno, your choice. Amane will eat anything I think."

"I..." Ryou was about to protest yet again, but the sincere look on his brother's face made him rethink his actions. Finally, he gave up and smiled, almost laughing at himself for doing so. "Actually, I'm kind of in the mood for a hamburger."

"Is that what we're having for dinner tonight?" Amane interrupted, coming downstairs from her bedroom, the robotic bird on her head. "Because I kind of wanted some pizza..."

The twins exchanged glances yet again. Sometimes their little sister had the greatest ideas.

"Perfect, we'll just order in," Ryou said happily. "Cheap, easy, and Italian."

"Saying pizza is Italian is like saying hot dogs are German," Bakura muttered.

"After dinner Bakura and I are going to check out that new cafe in downtown. You can stay here by yourself, right?"

"Why can't I come?" the teen complained. "I was the one who told Bakura in the first place!"

"Because Ryou thinks it's raunchy and doesn't want your virgin eyes tainted by the nipples of naked women. Apparently he also thinks you've never looked at yourself without any clothes on." He whispered the last part, causing the girl to stifle a laugh.

"I didn't say that it _was_ raunchy, I just want to make sure that it wasn't," the other explained defensively.

"Every restaurant is a strip club until he says it isn't."

"Well, you can't be too sure these days..."

"You sound like an old man," Amane pouted.

"Amane, not you too!"

"Can I order the pizza before this escalates?" Bakura grumbled, waving the phonebook in the air. "Ryou, what do you want on yours? Bacon?"

"Actually I just wanted cheese..."

"Okay, _bacon_–"

"I don't even know why he bothers to ask me," Ryou sighed, making a face.

"Alright, so I have meat lovers for me, pineapple for Amane, and crust...eh, I mean _cheese_ for Ryou, right?"

"Yes," the other two siblings replied, though one more enthusiastically than the other.

"Cardiac arrest, here we come," Bakura muttered.

-

Mahaado was the eldest son of the Inanna family, famous for their shrewd business technique and almost supernatural ability to predict the drop and rise of the stock market. Because of this, they had become one of the most notable names in the marketing world, with companies large and small fighting to gain their partnership. However, upon the death of the family's patriarch, the remaining sons, uninterested in continuing their father's successful legacy, split the remaining millions between themselves and their mother before going their separate ways. The countless businesses connected to the Inanna name faltered and eventually died; a consequence that hardly kept the brothers from sleeping at night.

At the age of twenty-six, Mahaado was a fairly successful lawyer, making less than a quarter of what his father did, but his income was still nothing to sneeze at. Despite his wealth, Mahaado still kept close tabs on his sealed savings account, which contained a large portion of his father's inheritance. Two days prior, he had noticed $500 missing; pocket change to someone who had grown up surrounded by wealth, but missing money nonetheless. His first and only suspect was his younger brother, Mariku.

While Mahaado had taken after his father in terms of work ethic and even appearance, the younger Inanna took after their mother in that both were natural blondes despite being Egyptian (a feat in and of itself) and both were so used to having things handed to them that they couldn't be bothered to lift a finger to help anyone but themselves. Mariku was twenty-three, attended college on and off depending on his mood, and was infamous around the Los Angeles social circuit. The brothers hadn't spoken to each other since their father's death four years ago, but he had learned from their mother that his younger sibling had been living in loft a few minutes from the downtown area. By simply asking around local bars, he had discovered both his brother's building and room number, which was both convenient and worrisome.

As the elevator doors opened to the third floor of the complex, Mahaado stepped out and looked around, referring to a small slip of paper to remind himself of Mariku's room. Admittedly, he was relieved his brother had opted for a modest loft instead of a multi-roomed mansion, as the younger Inanna had been somewhat spoiled growing up.

He stopped in front of a large white door, a gold plated 14 bolted to its center. Before ringing the doorbell, Mahaado looked around the empty hallway and pressed his ear against the painted wood, trying to figure out what was happening on the other side. It was quieter than he would've thought, the muted sounds of a television being the only distinct noise he could hear.

Finally, Mahaado pressed the small button next to his head, a pleasant chime sounding from the inside. There was a short wait as a number of chains and locks clinked and clattered on the other side of the door. When it opened, a pair of hazy plum eyes met his own cobalt, half lidded and just as uncaring as ever. While Mahaado had a very approachable, conservative look, Mariku had always donned edgier appearance; his sandy blonde hair rarely un-spiked, his eyes rarely without eyeliner.

"Wow. It's you." Was the lukewarm welcome.

"It's been a while Mariku," Mahaado said courteously, though slightly miffed. "How have you been?"

"Why are you here?"

"Is it so wrong for one brother to visit another unannounced?"

"Yes, it is."

"I just wanted to drop by and say 'hi,' you know? You've grown since I saw you last."

"No I haven't," the blonde sneered. "It's so pathetic watching you struggle to find something to talk about. Just do whatever you have to and slip back into the dark recesses of my past."

"Do I detect a sliver of animosity?"

"Perhaps. So did you blow all your money at the races, or what? Cut the pleasantries and just get to the point."

"Will you at least invite me in?"

"I would, but I currently have a semi-permanent house guest napping in the bedroom."

"You never told me you had a live in..."

"Why would I? It's not like you've ever asked," Mariku sighed, fiddling with the ends of his pant's drawstrings. "I was going to mention him in this year's Christmas card, but..."

"So it's a guy then?"

"If you can call him that," the blonde blinked. "Sometimes I get confused myself."

"How old is he?"

"..He's legal."

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?" Mahaado hissed, eyes narrowing.

"It means if anything _happens_, I won't be charged with statutory rape," Mariku shrugged. "I met him at a concert a few years back; we've been dating for about two years."

"I can't tell if you're being serious or not..."

"I like it that way."

"As long as I don't get any phone calls from the police in the middle of the night," the older brother grumbled. "Anyway, the reason I came over was to inform you of the five hundred dollars missing from my savings account. You wouldn't happen to know anything about it would you?"

"You're so quick to judge."

"Well? Did you take it or not?"

"I didn't," the blonde snapped. "Why the hell would I take money out of your _savings_? I know your PIN number for God's sake."

"You...wait, what?"

"Don't worry, I still have a good chunk of Daddy's money left. I won't be borrowing from you for at _least_ another three months." He placed a hand on the door. "So is that all you wanted, or did you plan to stay for dinner? Tonight's menu consists of beer, popcorn, and strawberry ice cream."

"I thought you hated strawberry?"

"I do, but my vagabond lover can't get enough of it."

"For some reason, I can't picture any creature with enough patience to tolerate your stupidity," Mahaado sighed. "Would meeting him be too much to ask?"

"I don't need you to give him your stamp of approval," Mariku bristled.

"Is it a crime for me to know what kind of people my darling little brother has been associating himself with since father died?"

"In this county it is."

"Mariku," a drowsy voice called from inside the loft. "Where are you?"

"Just getting rid of a salesman," the blonde responded, inspecting his nails. "Well Mahaado, if you're not staying over, then might I suggest going to the police about the money? They're there to _help_ regular citizens like us you know."

"Is that him?" Mahaado asked quietly, pointing to the figure that had just come into view.

The young man was dressed in a simple hooded tank-top and a pair of dark jeans. He was thin, almost too thin; if it weren't for a few toned muscles on his arms, Mahaado might have been tempted to buy him a large sandwich. His long, light blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail, an oversized barrette used to pin it to the back of his head. Large lilac eyes, still clouded with sleep, peeked through long bangs, a blank expression on his delicate face.

A yawn.

"Wow, this salesman looks even more shady than the one that came yesterday. So what're you selling? Knives? Because we've got plenty of those, all shapes and sizes too." His expression suddenly turned rather frightening. "Wanna see?"

"I'm not here to sell you anything," Mahaado replied shortly, eyeing his brother. "However, I _would_ like to ask you a few questions."

"Is this normal?" the small blonde asked Mariku dully, receiving a shrug in response.

"What's your name?"

"Malik Ishtar," he answered, tossing his bangs back.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-one."

"How do you know my brother?"

"Oh! So you're Mariku's big brother huh?" Malik smiled. "Well if you must know, we met at a concert three years ago."

"And how long have you been dating?"

The small blonde scoffed. "Well _that's_ private information, isn't it? Besides, our lives are probably super boring compared to yours; you work at a transvestite bar, don't you? How's that working out? It sounds exciting."

"WHAT?"

"Aren't you the gay cross-dresser Mariku told me about? Unless there's a _third_ son..."

"Excuse me, but I am not the one with the _boyfriend_!" the eldest Egyptian protested. He shot a death glare towards his younger brother, who was doubled over in laughter. "You _know_ I like women, you used to drive away my dates all the time!"

"Still, you haven't denied that you cross-dress." Malik said seriously. "I know I look pretty ambiguous (well, more pretty than ambiguous, hee!), but at least I know that dresses are for women _only_." A smirk. "That is, unless the situation calls for one."

"What else has Mariku told you about me?"

"This isn't about Mariku and I, this is about helping the inner you that's struggling to escape the restrictive male role you've been born into. It's okay Mahaado, let it all out!" Lilac eyes glinted mischievously. "Or should I say _Mahaara_?"

Mahaado blushed as Mariku flashed a toothy grin.

"I can see why you two get along so well," he said finally, face stiff. He checked his watch. "Sorry Mariku, I'm afraid I can't stay for dinner, I have to get going–"

"Hold on, you're a lawyer, right?"

"Oh, so he _did_ tell you something useful."

"It's always nice to know that you have a lawyer on hand just in case you want to sue someone for looking at you funny," Mariku said solemnly. "I've done it twice, won both cases."

"Ugh."

"May I have your business number?" Malik asked, grabbing a small black cell phone. "I might be calling you in the near future."

"Because?"

"Because I work at the Honey Milk Cafe."

"I've never been there," Mahaado blinked, unsure what the blonde was getting at.

"Oh, you should _really_ come over whenever you have a case drought," Malik smiled. "A lot of the other employees would appreciate it as well."

"What kind of–?"

"Don't you have a shift tonight Malik?" Mariku interrupted.

"I...Oh shit. What time is it?"

"Ten to nine."

"Ack! They said they'd fire me if I showed up late again! I wonder if I'll be able to run over there in five minutes... Oh well, it was nice meeting you Mahaado," the smaller blonde waved, hastily throwing on a light jacket. "Don't wait up for me Mariku!"

"I never do," the larger blonde sighed, watching the other run out the door. "Be careful!"

"So...what kind of place _is_ the Honey Milk Cafe?" Mahaado asked as Malik's rapid footsteps descended the building's stairs.

"It's a host restaurant," Mariku said bluntly.

"A...'host' restaurant? You mean like a–?"

"Patrons walk in, choose a host, and get entertained for a set amount of time. They've got a no touch policy, but needless to say, some of the guests get a little overzealous." An impish grin. "It's about two steps away from prostitution, but all the books say it's perfectly legal! And the pay isn't all that bad too. I'd apply if it weren't for the fact that I'm already stinking rich."

"And you're alright with him getting fawned over by random strangers? Funny; I'd always pinned you down as the jealous type."

"Oh, I _am_," Mariku asserted, his smile turning slightly manic.

Mahaado laughed nervously.

"Well, I should stop by the police to–"

"_I_ took the money you idiot."

"What?" the elder Inanna blinked. "But...you just said...I KNEW IT WAS YOU!"

"Well, who else would it be? I just didn't want to tell you while Malik was here because..." A blush. "Listen, he's been having some financial problems lately; he's got this hulking stepbrother that's been in the hospital for almost nine months, and their insurance company's stopped paying all the medical bills. I've been trying to help him out on my own, but if this keeps going on, _I'll_ be broke. So...taking that money was just a one time thing alright? Just forget about it and I'll pay you back later."

"Doesn't he have anyone else to leech money off of? Mariku, just because he's living with you doesn't mean you're required to–"

"Both of his parents are dead; he's got an older sister running one of the main museums in Egypt, but she's cut off all ties with them. That ogre in the hospital has been taking care of Malik since he was just a kid. I know you think I'm callous, but–"

"Oh I don't think you're callous Mariku, I think you're stupid. How do you know he's not just digging for gold? Say he meets someone with more money at that little job of his; do you really think he'll stay with you? Honestly, you always act so tough and cool, but you're really the most naive–"

Mahaado was silenced by a solid punch to his mouth. He brought a shaking hand to his lips, finding a light trickle of blood. His brother's usually indifferent plum eyes were wild and almost terrifying.

"Say that again, I'll kill you where you stand."

"Mariku, you're overreacting."

"Don't come barging into my life after four years of nothing and start calling me naive! You want to pretend you know me, then go the fuck ahead! I don't care what you tell the rest of the family, they all hate me already. But don't you dare start accusing Malik of being like that! You think the only reason someone would want to be with me is because I have money?"

"I..." Mahaado paled, realizing his poor choice of words. "No wait, I didn't mean it like that!"

The blonde sighed heavily. "Just get out of here Mahaado. I'll send you a Christmas card."

"But–!"

Mariku promptly slammed the door in his face.

-

I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long for this; please take a short moment to **drop me a review**, this chapter was rewritten too many times for me to count.

Besides, this is the first chapter, and **I really need some feedback**; after all, this was originally going to be a single chapter in Ningyo, but I was nice enough to make it a story in and of itself.

However, if I see there isn't much interest in it, the first option is still very much available to me. (HINT HINT)


	2. The Honey Milk Cafe

**Ningen **

**Summary:** (Prequel to Ningyo) Bakura, a corrupt physician, finds himself drawn to one of the servers from a popular cafe, the sweet yet stubborn Malik. However, a violent murder sets off a series of events that cause their lives to slowly unravel.

**Rated:** T

**Genre:** Romance/Mystery

**Author's Note:** Thanks so much to everyone that reviewed! I'll never love you as much as I love Malik, but consider this chapter being uploaded within a week (sort of) as a bucket of thanks!

Oh, I don't know if I've ever mentioned this before, but... _ningyo_ is Japanese for doll; _ningen_ is Japanese for human.

**Disclaimer: **Yuugiou and all related characters belong to Kazuki Takahashi.

-

**2 – The Honey Milk Cafe**

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," Ryou said in disbelief. "Why...why would they be advertising a host restaurant in a high school newspaper? Remind me to have a talk with Amane's principal come Monday."

With the scent of bacon and mozzarella cheese still lingering on his breath, Bakura looked around the restaurant interestedly, taking note of all the impossibly attractive servers dressed in conservative, yet somehow seductive uniforms. The cafe was small, with only ten or twelve tables surrounding a large stage upon which a two man band played what sounded like synthesized elevator music. The interior was rather classy, and even the hard to please Ryou had to appreciate the simplicity of the design. There was an awful lot of pink though.

"Aw, come on Ryou; it's not like they actually do anything."

"What kind of idiot do you take me for? Sure it starts out with some fun and flirting, but before you know it, Amane could be head over heels in love for one of these plastic faced sellouts!"

"You'd think staying home alone all day would loosen you up a little," Bakura snorted. "You're always telling me not to judge people based on their occupation, talk about hypocritical."

"No one with any ounce of self respect would choose to be someone's plaything for money!"

It wasn't long before a well endowed blonde took notice of the two bickering brothers and approached them, red lips pulled into a smile. Like the other female servers, she was dressed in a ruffled white top (hers looked a little too small around the chest area) and tight black jeans.

"Welcome to the Honey Milk Cafe; my name is Mai Kujaku, would you care to browse our menu while waiting for a few more hosts to be available?"

"Actually we were just leaving," the younger twin said politely, face pink.

"Can I have one then?" Bakura asked, holding out his hand.

"Bakura!"

"Hey, if you don't want to be waited on hand and foot by a hot waiter then that's fine by me; go home and tell Amane that her precious cafe is filled with debauchery and smells faintly of vanilla coffee, which we all know is just a cover up for all the unadulterated sex taking place in the back room."

"I won't allow this! You _know_ that places like this are no better than a brothel!"

"Yeah, except they're missing one key ingredient: physical contact. Step into the twenty-first century for a bit; I've only got a few more hours of my day off left and I'll spend them however I damn well please!"

"You're not setting a good example for her! If you yourself can't practice self restraint then how can you expect Amane to?"

"Well she's got _you_, doesn't she?"

"That's not the point!"

"Oh, so he's one of _those_ huh?" Mai smirked. "Well if you can't come here with an open mind, then you'd best not come at all." She fixed her violet eyes onto the twins' dark brown. "It only takes one negative thought to ruin the experience for the rest of our guests."

"While I respect your decision to do whatever you wish in order to make a living, I personally find it degrading to sell one's body just so that a few hapless customers can have thirty minutes of fabricated romance," Ryou responded evenly, though still flushed. "You'll forgive me for not wanting to be a part of this." He turned to his brother. "If you really want to stay, then give me the keys; you can walk home, can't you?"

Bakura glared at his younger sibling for a good while before tossing him the car keys.

"Try not to crash."

"Come with me sir," the busty woman insisted, leading him away from the door an into a comfortable lounge area decorated with a number of squishy chairs.

"Have fun," Ryou muttered, leaving the cafe.

As he walked towards their car, parked just a few feet from the restaurant, he couldn't help but notice a small group of shady individuals hanging around the small alley next to the cafe. They were laughing and talking quite audibly, attracting the attention of the people passing by, all of which made an obvious attempt not to look in that particular direction. The younger twin hesitated before entering the vehicle, debating whether or not to call the police.

There was a light jingle of bells as the cafe doors opened; a svelte blonde with dark skin exited the establishment, full bag of trash in tow. Judging by the uniform, Ryou guessed he was one of the hosts. As he approached the alleyway to drop off the garbage, the blonde froze, looking apprehensive. Ryou again had an inner debate over whether or not to do anything, but before he could make up his mind, the host had abandoned the trash bag next to the wall and walked back to the cafe. He paused and looked around before re-entering, briefly catching Ryou's eye. The twin looked away quickly, fiddling with his keys. Finally, as the blonde went inside, he got into the car, unable to shake the uneasy feeling he had gotten during his short encounter with the attractive, yet somehow unsettling host.

There was a strange emptiness in those lilac orbs.

-

"Well now that that dark cloud has gone away," the blonde woman said irritably. "Let's get you situated, shall we? We currently have three hosts available for you, but before I introduce them, do you have any specific likes or dislikes?"

"Men." Bakura answered without much hesitation. "I like men."

"Ah, so you're a part of _that_ persuasion," Mai laughed. "Never would've guessed. Well, anyway, that narrows it down to two. We've got Keith Howard, a red-blooded American that's a bit _too_ patriotic for my tastes, but hey, you may find him appealing."

She pointed to a muscular male slumped over the small bar, a bandanna of the stars and stripes wrapped tightly around his head, his eyes hidden by dark sunglasses. Who wears sunglasses inside? ...Who wears sunglasses inside_ at night_?

"Eh..." The doctor made a face. "A little too serial killer for me."

"Yeah, I think so too," Mai agreed. "If I ever find out who okayed his application, they're gonna get a fist in the mouth. Hmph. Your other choice is the _lovely_ Malik Ishtar, an exotic mixture of sugar and spice."

Bakura followed her finger to young man wiping down a newly vacated table, looking incredibly tired and manic at the same time. Still, his feminine features were much more appealing than the meathead Mai had indicated earlier.

"I'll go with option B."

"Figures; he's popular with both male and female guests. Hey, Malik!"

Said blonde looked up, startled.

"You've got another client!"

"Coming!"

"Hope you have a good time," Mai smiled, handing him a menu. "Oh, and since this is your first visit, I'll give you a ten percent discount; tell your friends!"

"Will do," Bakura nodded, awaiting his selected host.

Malik approached looking slightly embarrassed. The men's uniform was only slightly different than the women's, consisting of a black dress shirt instead of a white. "Um...if you'll follow me?"

"No welcome? No introduction? Come on, I thought this was a host service."

"Oh, right! S-Sorry... I'm Malik Ishtar, I'll be your host this evening." A short bow. "I hope you'll have a good time with us at the Honey Milk Cafe."

"Hm."

The blonde looked up. "Something wrong?"

"I was promised _spice_," the doctor snorted. "Drop the cutesy act already, it's extremely off-putting. If I wanted someone without any balls, I'd have asked for a woman."

The other frowned. "Fine, if that's what you want; for the rest of your stay, you'll get full frontal, uncensored Malik Ishtar. Now move your ass over to that table while I get you some milk tea."

"There, now doesn't that feel better?" Bakura smirked.

'It's still an _act_ stupid,' Malik thought irritably. 'It's our job to alter our personalities according to the client's requests. Guess you're too dense to figure that out. Oh well, more fun for me.'

While his host was arranging his tray at the service counter, the vacationing doctor weaved through the unbearably cute tables, watching with a sort of disgusted pleasure as customers threw themselves completely into the personal fantasies the cafe offered. He had to give considerable credit to the hosts, especially the ones who were unfortunate enough to be paired up with particularly lecherous patrons.

He had finally gotten to his seat just as the guest next to him was leaving. The short, spectacled girl serving as his host waved goodbye a little _too_ enthusiastically, slumping into a shapeless heap as soon as the portly man went through the door.

"Oh man, that was the longest hour of my life," she sighed, pushing her glasses up.

"Tough night?" Bakura asked amusedly.

"You have no idea; I think that guy had some weird fork fetish." A pause. "Huh, I haven't seen you around before. New customer?"

"I guess."

"Who's your host?"

Bakura looked around and pointed to the tanned blonde who was still preparing for his session.

"Ooh, you got Malik? Nice choice," she giggled. "He's a nice guy. Gets stressed out really easily though."

"Oh _does_ he?" The doctor smirked.

"I hear he's been put on a really short leash; he's always showing up late and missing staff meetings, so the boss always yells at him and stuff. But he's so popular with all the guests that she's having a tough time working up the will to fire him."

"Good thing I'll get to try him out before he gets let go," Bakura said solemnly.

"Hee, you could say that..."

"Rebecca!" Mai called from the front of the cafe. "Your next appointment's here!"

"Alright!" The girl, apparently named Rebecca, replied.

As she scampered off to greet yet another older man, Malik finally arrived at the table, a silver tray decorated with an assortment of small cookies, cakes, and tarts balanced expertly on his shoulder.

"Sorry I took so long," he apologized, setting the platter down, "I was waiting for them to finish making the cupcakes."

"You shouldn't have, I'm not very partial to sweets," Bakura snorted.

"Duly noted," the blonde frowned. "Um, can I ask your name?"

"Is that necessary? You'll see it on my credit card after we're all finished, won't you?"

"Well I have to call you _something_, don't I?"

"You can make up a name if you wish."

'Okay; from now on you'll be Douche Asshole Jerkface the Third,' Malik thought darkly.

"You're making this a little difficult," he said instead, pouring his guest a cup of lavender milk tea.

"Other people have to work for their money, no reason why you shouldn't have to."

"This _is_ work," the blonde retorted.

"_Right_," Bakura scoffed, reaching for his cup. "Keep telling yourself that."

"I hope you'll forgive me for asking what _you_ do for a living Mr. Nameless."

"I'm a physician in the Intensive Care Unit at the hospital a few blocks away from here," the other responded coolly, downing the tea in a single swig. "And if you think _you_ have to deal with a lot of creeps, you'd be floored at all the weirdoes I have to deal with on an hourly basis."

"You're a doctor? Hmm...and you're Japanese too... Maybe I should call you sensei from now on..."

"That's not necessary," Bakura replied, setting the cup down. "I mean, unless you _want_ to. Actually, I'm kind of impressed you knew that 'sensei' could refer to professions other than a teacher or ninja master." He paused. "Wait, how in the hell did you know I was Japanese?"

"The shape of your eyes," Malik shrugged. "Anyway, I've taken a few semesters of Japanese in college; I'm not exactly fluent, but I think I can work my way out of most situations. I've still got a few more courses to go though."

The physician couldn't bring himself to respond with a scathing comment. He was much too busy trying to ignore the rush of heat that rose to his cheeks when the attractive host admitted to noticing something as trivial as the shape of his eyes.

"Sensei?"

"Do you really need to call me that?"

"We give all our regular guests their own special little nicknames," Malik smirked. "It makes every single visit just a little more special. You _will_ be coming to see me again, won't you?"

"Depends on how well this experience goes. To be honest, you've been very lukewarm."

"Say what?" The other twitched.

"Hosts are supposed to entertain their guests, and all you've done so far is brought me some tea and talked nonsensically about this and that. Do your job; show me something I won't find anywhere else." Mahogany eyes settled on the small stage where the offending music was being played. "Here's an idea; kick out those second class musicians and sing something for me."

"I-I can't do that!" Malik hissed. "Those two were requested by the cafe's manager!"

"You're being paid to please your client," Bakura said firmly. "Therefore, if I am not pleased, then I shouldn't have to pay, right?"

"That's beside the point! If a customer asked me to shoot myself in the head then I obviously wouldn't have to!"

"Well that's a stupid argument; you wouldn't have to get paid if you were dead, right?"

"You're really starting to piss me off!"

"Ah-ah; the no touch policy goes both ways, doesn't it?"

Malik lowered his hand, annoyed.

"Now if you don't go up there and sing for me, then I'll just tell Miss Triple D, and you'll be handed a cute little pink slip. If the rumor I've heard is true, you're already on pretty strict probation, right?"

"You wouldn't. I _need_ this job!"

"And _I_ need to be rescued from this awful bookstore music," Bakura complained. "Off you go."

The blonde growled. It wasn't like he was _completely_ unfamiliar with singing; he and Mariku would occasionally have impromptu jam sessions, usually during lazy weekend afternoons. The taller blonde would suddenly start playing a few notes on his keyboard and Malik would eventually fill in the melody with what seemed to be randomly chosen words; they somehow managed to create quite a few songs this way.

"One condition," Malik said. "You're coming up there with me."

"No I'm not," the other scowled.

"Yes, you are. See, I need you to make sure that I won't do anything stupid, like..." he retrieved something from underneath the table, "sing your credit card number for the entire cafe to hear."

"What? How did you–"

He felt around his pockets, realizing with uncensored horror that the smirking blonde before him had stolen his wallet.

"You're a thief."

"Thief is _such_ a harsh word Mr. Kagami," Malik cooed, using his client's driver's license to fan himself. "You'd think a doctor of all things would notice when another man's hand was in his back pocket."

Bakura flushed pink, looking very similar to Ryou. "What do you want me to do?"

"Can you play the piano?"

"Yes," he replied suspiciously.

"How well can you play by ear?"

"Well enough."

"Good; follow me then."

Malik returned Bakura's license (still keeping the other card hostage) and pulled him towards the stage's stairs, silently congratulating himself for gaining the upper hand. However, before they could ask the current performers to leave, they were confronted by a very irate Mai, who had three trays balancing on her shoulders.

"Where do you think you two are going?" She hissed, eyeing Malik in particular.

"Mr. Kagami wanted me to sing for him," the other blonde stated, meeting his boss's gaze. "I told him I was horrible without an accompanying melody, so he's graciously offered to play the piano alongside me."

"I never–!" Bakura began, only to be elbowed in the gut.

The action didn't go unnoticed.

"Malik, you're walking on _very_ thin ice," Mai advised, eyes narrowed. "If anything other than singing happens on that stage, you're leaving. I don't care how many clients you have; your behavior is smudging our business's image."

"Right, because the term 'host cafe' conjures up such _wholesome_ mental pictures," Malik smiled mockingly.

"Don't push your luck Ishtar."

The doctor looked between the two blondes, wanting nothing more than to reveal that his host had an infuriating tendency to pickpocket. But he found himself focusing on Malik's face instead, noticing a tinge of fear underneath the confident mask.

For once in his life, Bakura held his tongue.

"If I get a standing ovation, you're giving me a raise," Malik said finally, once again tugging his client towards the stage. "You better not mess this up for me Mr. Kagami."

"My name is _Bakura_," the other snarled.

"Sensei it is then," the blonde snickered.

They waited for the umpteenth elevator tune to finish before waving the two musicians over. Both were freakishly short and one had the stupidest haircut either had seen in a long time. It was like someone dropped a bowl on his head and chopped off any pieces of hair that happened to poke out.

"Sorry for disturbing your performance...uh..."

"Weevil Underwood!" the shorter one announced proudly, badly cut green hair becoming blindingly neon under the bright lights.

"And Rex Raptor," added his companion with an equally ugly, though slightly more bearable hair style.

"_Right_," Malik said doubtfully, trying his best not to laugh at their tasteless stage names. "Listen, do you think you could lend us the stage for a few minutes? My client's asked me to sing for him, and well, I just _couldn't_ say no."

Bakura almost gagged.

"I dunno," Rex muttered, scratching his head. "We were just about to play another one of our chart topping songs."

"Yeah, it's called 'Watch the Maggots Eat Your Face!'"

It was Malik's turn to hold back a gag.

"But we were planning to take a break anyway," the less hideous band member shrugged. "So I guess we could let you use it for a few minutes."

"Yeah, just don't mess up our gear!"

Bakura looked over his shoulder and saw a half-destroyed electric guitar lying next to a smaller, odd looking stringed instrument placed underneath a keyboard with only sixteen keys.

"I didn't even know there _was_ such a thing as an electric ukulele..." Malik said in amazement, poking the foreign object.

"You and me both," his client laughed, throwing off a large sheet that covered the cafe's baby grand, which was hidden behind a violently pink curtain. "So no sheet music?"

"Nope, just play whatever you want to...or make something up, I don't care. I'll join in when I feel like it." He smirked, looking like a large cat. "If you don't mess up, I might even continue."

"I'll keep that in mind," Bakura mumbled, making a mental note to purposely ruin the piece should the blonde's voice be anything less than stellar. "If people start booing I'm blaming you!"

"Good evening," Malik said, speaking into the microphone. He had his 'fake cheerfulness' down so well that it was scary. "I hope all of you are having an enjoyable time here at our cozy little cafe! My client's requested that I perform a short song for everyone while our guest musicians take a short break."

A buzz of approval and light applause followed; Bakura assumed it was because they too couldn't stand the elevator music.

"Anyway, my sensei will be accompanying me on piano, so I hope you all enjoy!"

The doctor took a quick glace at the crowd and saw several customers gazing at Malik with lust filled eyes, their hosts looking completely unfazed. He then realized most of the room was staring right back, waiting for him to start playing. Startled, he quickly began to play a melody that sounded nice, but was _painfully_ simple. Bakura could feel the heat of thirty pairs of eyes drilling into his forehead, trying his best not to look completely frazzled.

Then he heard it. It was soft at first; barely audible through his strong notes, but it slowly grew in volume and power as he continued.

Malik had started to sing.

"_Been gone so long I can't remember; where was my home?  
__The distant faces fade away; I'm always on my own  
__I can show a smile, it's not hard to do,  
__I can show the strength to go on  
__But sometimes I want to let go of everything..._"

Bakura had to constantly remind himself to keep playing, distracted by the beautiful melody the blonde had woven into his made up tune. His voice was lovely, light and smooth like whipped cream. Nothing like he had expected.

"_...And if you should still fall into despair  
__There is one thing left to believe,  
__I lie in your heart always..._"

The crowd, hosts included, was mesmerized by Malik's song; the blonde looked very calm despite all the attention, almost bored. Strange.

They continued the performance, Bakura and Malik, looking to each other for small cues. If one didn't know any better, they'd think the host and client had been playing together for ages; there was no way something this flawless could have been pulled off on the spot.

And yet it was; there was an obvious connection between the sardonic blonde and his disillusioned guest.

Bakura played the final notes to his piece as Malik concluded his part, the same peaceful, yet detached expression on his face. As soon as they finished, there was a roar of admiration followed by a thunderous applause, almost all the guests rising to their feet. Malik's fellow hosts whistled their support; Mai was off to the side, looking to be rather sour at the prospect of having to live up to her end of the bargain.

Malik motioned for Bakura to get up, grabbing his hand and forcing him to join in a bow. The doctor looked around, face burning red in embarrassment. He suddenly felt a pair of very soft lips brushing lightly against his ear.

"No regrets, right?" The blonde whispered. "You got your song, and I got my raise."

Bakura fought back a smile.

He couldn't believe he actually _enjoyed_ that.

-

"Tonight on World News: Is war looming on the horizon for The Land of the Rising Sun? Unyielding tension between the political leaders of Osaka and Kyoto suggest that a civil war may be inevitable. According to recent reports, government officials in Kyoto have started seeking the aid of Soichiro Kaiba, current CEO of the weapons manufacturer, KaibaCorp. Kaiba has allegedly been on paternity leave, celebrating the birth of his son Gozaburo, and did not comment on the situation. In response to this, Osaka–"

"_Boring_," Mariku sighed, changing the channel. It was two in the morning and Malik still hadn't come back from work. Granted, he himself had sometimes been out clubbing until the sun began to rise, but that was completely different. At least, he thought it was. Either way, he couldn't help but worry about the slim blonde being all alone on the streets of Los Angeles at this time of night; Malik was very capable of taking care of himself if he ever came across an _un_armed attacker, but the chances of a mugger, rapist, or whatever else was hiding out there _not_ bringing a gun or knife was about one in a million.

Mariku rubbed the sleep from his eyes and flipped to a less depressing station. Whoever decided that 24 hour cartoons were a good idea deserved a medal.

Just as the show was starting to get good, the blaring tune that served as his cell phone's ring went off, distracting him from the colorful madness on the television. Assuming only Malik would have the nerve to call him at this hour, Mariku answered without bothering to check the caller ID; a careless act which he would soon regret.

"Where are you?" he asked impatiently, reaching for a half finished soda can.

"Why we're just a few steps away from Honey Milk. In fact, we're so close that if one of us were to fire a bullet blindly into the night, it might just ring that adorable pink bell over the entrance."

The blonde froze.

"...What do you want?" he hissed.

"Don't act like you don't know Mariku," the other voice taunted. "We want our money back. It's been too long since the last payment and _I'm_ starting to get a little testy."

"I can't give you what I don't have."

"But the thing is you _do_ have it. We _know_ you do. It's kind of funny, isn't it? A rich guy like you having to run to scumbags like us for money. Of course all this happened before your daddy died, but still, it's not like we can just _ignore_ ten thousand dollars. Two thousand maybe, but not ten. Just go to the bank, tell the nice lady that you want to withdraw a tiny bit of that four million–"

"I _can't_ get to that money, don't you get it? The instructions in my father's will made it so that I only get a set amount every two weeks, and unlike you idiots, I have _important_ things to spend it on!"

"I can honestly say that I'm hurt Mariku; you don't think we're important? After we just told you how dangerously close we are to your little adopted kitten?"

Mariku's breath caught in his chest upon realization of the other man's words.

"How...how did you know that he–?"

"I have my sources. The bottom line is: I want that money _soon_. And if I don't get it when I want it, then I'm just going to have to take something that's important to you. It's only fair."

"There's no way I can get to that money!"

"_Then figure something out_!" The voice snapped, losing its cool composure. "You can pretend to be all high and mighty now that you have a few millions all to yourself, but money won't change the fact that you're nothing but a spoiled brat that just stood daddy's shadow and got everything handed to him. Sorry to break this to you, but real life? Real life doesn't work that way! If you take something from someone and can't give it back, then they're allowed to do the same to you. It's the law of the street!"

"I know I've already paid more than half of what I owe you," Mariku snarled. "Stay the fuck away from that cafe!"

"Why? We can go wherever we want to go, see whatever we want to see...touch whatever we want to touch... Consider that little stray of yours a hostage until you get the rest of that money back to us, alright? Who knows; if you take much longer, he might run into an unfortunate 'accident' on the way home."

"If I find out you've messed with him in any way, I'll–"

"You'll what? Call the cops? Don't make me laugh. You'll be just as guilty as the rest of us. You were a crook. Your crimes are our crimes and vise-versa. The only reason we haven't ratted you out is because we _respect_ our brothers."

The blonde could almost see the other man's smirk.

"Besides, if you go to jail, who's gonna take in the kitty? I hear that his stepbrother's only getting worse..."

Mariku ground his teeth together, fist clenching in rage.

"He's _mine_...understand?"

"Oh I do, but what _you_ need to understand is that you're gonna have to start making those payments regularly; not bi-monthly or whenever it's in your convenience; we're running a business Inanna. Maybe you should've taken a page from your daddy's book."

"...How much do I still owe you?"

"Three thousand," was the prompt response. "You've already given us seven; just squeeze that piggy bank a little harder, alright?"

"Fine," Mariku snapped, almost breaking the phone. "But once I'm all paid up I don't want to see you anywhere near Honey Milk."

"As you wish," the other voice sighed.

There was a click and the line went dead.

Mariku felt as though he had just run a marathon. His heart was beating so fast; his breath so unsteady that he thought he might pass out. It wasn't just his own safety that he had to worry about now, it was Malik's too. The other blonde had absolutely nothing to do with anything, and yet he was still a target. To be totally oblivious that your life was in danger...as they say, 'ignorance is bliss.' But he wasn't about to lie down and watch the only person he'd ever cared so deeply about be taken away. He would find a way to pay off his debt or he'd go down with a bloody bang. Either way, Malik would be spared.

However, being the asshole he was, Mariku wasn't ready to take responsibility for _all_ the blame.

"If I didn't have to pay for his stupid stepbrother's hospital bills then this whole situation could have been dealt with ages ago! Nine months of treatment and that ungrateful bastard still isn't getting any better... _Damn it Malik_," the blonde groaned, dropping his cell phone. "How the hell did you do it? How'd you wrap me around your finger so easily? Why couldn't I have just said no? I do it all the time! What _is_ it about you?"

He closed his eyes.

'Why'd you have to be so nice to me?'

A faint creak echoed through the spacious loft as the door opened, soft footsteps padding on the hardwood floor shortly after.

'Speak of the devil,' Mariku thought, sitting up and descending the short flight of stairs to the lower level.

He found Malik digging around inside the refrigerator, still dressed in the cafe's uniform. Emerging with a cold bottle of water in hand, the smaller blonde jumped slightly, obviously startled.

"I told you not to wait up for me," he chided, pulling a weak frown which slowly turned into a smile. "Brought you some leftover cookies; if you want, we can have a few before bed. I won't tell anyone."

"Save them for breakfast, I think we're out of cereal," Mariku said dismissively. "Anyway, you should get to sleep, it's already half past two."

The other gasped, immediately turning to the wall clock. "Damn, I have another shift tomorrow at noon." A sigh. "Oh, and I'm visiting the hospital too; if you want, I can bring home dinner."

"Malik...what sound does a cat make?"

"...What?"

"Just...answer the question," Mariku grumbled, blushing slightly.

"Meow?"

"What about a dog?"

"Woof. Or bow wow, depends on who you ask."

"A bird?"

"Tweet."

"A mouse?"

"Squish."

He gave the smaller blonde an odd look.

"That's the sound a mouse makes when it gets caught in a mousetrap. _Squish_."

"Brilliant," Mariku sighed, massaging his temple. "Okay, so now what would _you_ sound like if I told you that I didn't want to pay for Rishid's hospital bills anymore?"

The question was blunt and loaded. Immediately after asking, he winced, wishing he had spent some more time thinking of a less ridiculous way to breach the subject. Still, he _had_ to tell him. It was for his own good; even if Malik ended up hating him for the rest of his life it wouldn't matter...because at least he'd _have_ the rest of his life.

Besides, Mariku was already very used to being hated.

"That...came out wrong," the tall blonde paled. "What I_ meant_ to say was–"

"I'd sound like I was totally fine with it," Malik blinked, poking the other's nose.

Mariku made an odd noise. He was expecting a kick to the face.

"To be honest, I've always felt bad asking for your help, but I was too afraid to tell you to stop. You can be very adamant sometimes, I don't know if you noticed... Do you remember that one time you screamed at me for wanting to pay for dinner? Anyway, if you don't want to support him anymore, then I understand. Besides," his airy tone turned somewhat sad, "I really don't think he's going to last much longer."

"Why do you say that?"

"Call it a gut feeling. Like I said, I'm going to see him tomorrow, and if it turns out he isn't getting any better, then there isn't much anyone can do right? Maybe I can use some of the money from his life insurance to pay you back."

"Malik...you are the weirdest person I've ever met."

"_You're_ the one who forced me to make a bunch of animal sounds just so you could ask me something that was completely reasonable," Malik reminded him. "But I guess that's 'normal' in Mariku Land. Sometimes I wonder what color the sky is in your world..."

"...Lilac," Mariku smirked.

"How predictable."

"So...you really wouldn't mind if I stopped?"

"Right now it feels like I'm just prolonging the inevitable. I was hoping they'd manage to find a way to help him, but he's just as bad as when he was first admitted. Maybe worse." He shot the taller Egyptian a critical glare. "Don't get me wrong. If you had said no outright, I would've gotten more than a little mad at you. Like frying pan to the face mad. But the fact that you _did_ say yes was...sweet of you." A smirk. "Hm, but you're not exactly a 'sweet' guy, are you?"

"Depends on how you define sweet I suppose."

"Cookies are sweet. Candy is sweet. Cake is sweet. _You_..." Lilac eyes gazed deeply into dark plum with a rare tenderness. "Bittersweet."

"How long did it take you to come up with that?" Mariku asked, somewhat touched.

"Actually, I read it on some guy's t-shirt," Malik giggled. It was a pleasant sound. "It's pretty cheesy when you say it out loud..."

"That it is," the other said blankly. 'But the way you looked at me wasn't.'

"Now are you coming to bed or not?"

"I'll meet you up there."

"Alright, but don't yell at me if I start hogging the blanket, okay?"

"Not making any promises."

"Whatever," the other yawned, already walking up the stairs. "Just hurry up okay?"

Mariku sighed happily, feeling as if huge weight was lifted off his chest. Now all the money that would have gone towards Rishid's hospital bills could go straight to his debt.

'It'll all be over soon,' he told himself, grabbing the coldest water bottle he could find. He closed the refrigerator door, grabbing a cookie before joining Malik upstairs. There was a shadow of a smile on Mariku's face as he stood at the foot of the large bed, seeing the smaller blonde already curled up underneath their shared comforter.

He looked so innocent.

But Malik was _far_ from an angel; he was sarcastic, opinionated, and at times just plain rude. Nevertheless, that mean streak was what made him so appealing to Mariku in the first place. He didn't _want_ an angel; he wanted someone with enough bite to stand up for what they wanted, someone who didn't let their flaws get in the way of how they lived.

He wanted someone who wasn't afraid to be human.

The tall blonde yawned and finally slipped under the covers, staring up at the ceiling contentedly before closing his eyes.

His life couldn't have been any more perfect than it was now.

-

The lyrics are from Maaya Sakamoto's _You're Not Alone_.

Wow; is it just me, or was a _long_ chapter? And I finished it in a week! Being bored can do that to a person. Anyway, the combined forces of pure boredom and all your lovely reviews have spurred the continuation of this story, so give yourselves a pat on the back!

Want more lengthy chapters filled with divine Malik goodness? You know what to do: **REVIEW!** (That rhymed, didn't it? Oh well.)

**PLEASE LEAVE ME A REVIEW!**

**V**


	3. Beauty's Second Face

**Ningen **

**Summary:** (Prequel to Ningyo) Bakura, a corrupt physician, finds himself drawn to one of the servers from a popular cafe, the sweet yet stubborn Malik. However, a violent murder sets off a series of events that cause their lives to slowly unravel.

**Rated:** T

**Genre:** Romance/Drama

**Author's Note:** The last parts of this chapter crosses with the opening scene of chapter 4 in _Ningyo_, so I'll just wait right here while you reread it.

Done? Cool. Enjoy then.

**Disclaimer: **Yuugiou and all related characters belong to Kazuki Takahashi.

-

**3 – Beauty's Second Face **

Mariku shivered, cursing audibly as he felt around for the blanket that Malik had, once again, stolen from him overnight. However, instead of plush bedding, his hand met hardwood, _icy_ hardwood to be exact. Opening his plum eyes blearily, he was met with the fuzzy sight of four ornate legs belonging to the king-sized bed he and Malik had been sharing over the past year. The blonde was then hit with a teeth splitting migraine and a soreness in his lower abdomen. Mariku rolled onto his back and glared at the ceiling angrily, finally realizing that, somehow, he had fallen out of bed.

He stumbled onto his feet, grasping the railing of the balcony that overlooked the lower level for support. Malik was still wrapped comfortably in their large comforter, a peaceful expression on his face. He had forgotten to wash off his eyeliner the night before, so there were smudges of it around his eyes, leading him to look part raccoon.

"Oh _honey_?"

The smaller blonde whimpered in response, hiding his head under a pillow.

Mariku 'hmphed' and promptly shoved him onto the floor, a loud shriek and dull thud following the action. He jumped onto the bed and peeked over the other side curiously, watching as Malik tried to wriggle his way out of the tangled cloth.

"That's what you get for kicking me out of bed," the larger blonde said moodily.

"How the hell, omph, could I possibly kick _you_ out of bed? I'm like half your size!"

"How else would I have ended up on the floor?"

"I don't know, maybe you _fell_?" Malik growled, wrestling off the blanket. "You obviously didn't mind too much, you slept through the whole thing!"

"Yeah, but now my back is killing me!"

"What, you want me to kick it back into alignment?"

"If you wouldn't mind..."

Malik laughed and tossed the comforter back onto the bed.

"Maybe tonight."

"Ooh. Suggestive."

"Not really. It could just mean I plan to kick your pillow stealing ass out of bed again."

"I guess that's the closest thing to a confession I'm going to get out of you," Mariku smirked. "Breakfast?"

"Eh, I'm actually not that hungry," the other blonde shrugged, rubbing his non-existent belly.

"Good, 'cause all we have right now are those cookies and a few cans of beer." He paused. "Sounds decent enough."

"No, that's okay..."

"Your call," Mariku yawned, stretching his arms. "I think I'm gonna take a shower before I head out. Want to join me?"

"No, that's okay," Malik repeated, pulling a face as his housemate descended the stairs.

"Last chance!"

The smaller blonde smiled despite his frustration, shoulders drooping. "Maybe one day I'll say yes." He said quietly, beginning to fold the sheets.

It wasn't that he was uncomfortable around Mariku; they shared the same bed after all, and there _were_ a few nights when the two of them did more than just sleep. But there was something about the water in particular that unnerved him. He wasn't afraid of water (that would make showering in general very difficult), rather afraid of how it would fall on his skin, his back in particular.

There were certain things, Malik thought, that were made more apparent under a glossy coat of liquid.

He sighed heavily, falling backwards onto the freshly made bed.

'I should really clean out some of those skeletons...'

He closed his eyes, basking in the late autumn sun. The air smelled wet, meaning it would probably rain later that day. He'd have to bring a jacket. Other than the incoming drizzle and his extremely rude awakening, the morning had gone by rather peacefully, the calming silence broken only by a loud, high-pitched chirping.

Annoyed, Malik looked to the direction of the noise, searching for whatever was responsible for interrupting his musings. He was surprised to find a small nest perched humbly outside their bedroom window containing a pudgy mother robin tending to her two flesh colored, alien looking babies. She busied herself with tucking in more leaves here and there and throwing up..._something_ into their open mouths. Yet they continued to cry their shrill demands, waving their frail limbs impatiently, asking for more. Judging by their appearance, Malik guessed that they had only just hatched. They weren't the cutest things at the in the world, but there was something very endearing about the scene.

After twitching around for a bit, the robin fluffed her feathers and took off, probably in search of more insects to vomit down her chicks' throats. Malik sat up and wandered toward the window, fixated on the squirming pink life forms; so helpless and pathetic, completely useless the way they were now. And yet their mother still dedicated every waking moment of her life to raising them. How...

...infuriating.

The slender blonde looked over his shoulder before pulling up the glass pane, the baby robins twittering directly under his nose. He looked at them curiously, his gaze shifting to the empty sidewalk three stories below them. A smirk pulled at his lips. After making sure that Mariku still hadn't emerged from the shower, Malik extended a finger and gently nudged the occupied cradle, slowly guiding it closer to the edge. The chicks' cries seemed to intensify as they were being moved, like they knew exactly what was happening to them. Finally, without a second of hesitation, Malik gave them one last push.

Lilac eyes watched with a sick amusement as the nest toppled off the edge of his windowsill, the two naked chicks continuing to call for their mother, hoping she would swoop down and rescue them from imminent death. There was a faint 'poof' as the mass of twigs and leaves hit the sidewalk; it wasn't a satisfying 'crunch' like he was hoping for, but it was something.

And at least the chirping had stopped.

Shortly after, the plump robin returned, a reddish-brown worm twisting grotesquely in her beak. She cocked her head from side to side, hopping around the spot where her offspring had once been. Malik smiled at her, a gesture that was both sympathetic and cruel. The bird flapped her wings in frustration, circling the same area over and over, trying to figure out if she had landed on the wrong windowsill. He wondered when, if ever, she would realize that the pile of woven sticks lying below hid the bodies of her broken babies. Round and round the bird danced, black eyes scanning the area for any sign of the nest. The determination of such a small animal was absolutely fascinating to him; he had thought she would have given up by now.

His ignorance towards the bird's actions was completely understandable. The devotion of a parent to its child was something Malik had never fully understood...or experienced.

"Shoo!" the blonde snapped, waving her away.

"Hey Malik!" Mariku called from downstairs. "I'm going to go to the supermarket; you want me to drop you off?"

He watched the bird fly a short distance before it turned around and landed on the ledge yet again, dropping the worm to chirp to her dead chicks.

"Malik? Are you up there?"

"Yeah, I'm going to get ready!"

"Hurry up!"

The svelte blonde hummed a cheery tune while he cleaned himself up, removing the offending smears from under his eyes before tracing cleaner, darker lines around them. There were two oddly shaped marks under each of his pale irises that would never wash away; they didn't draw too much attention, as they looked like regular tattoos, but they served as a constant reminder for something the twenty-one year old would rather forget.

After putting on a pair of jeans that matched his favorite black jacket, Malik grabbed a spare cafe uniform and stuffed it into his backpack, already anticipating an hour long lecture about the importance of coming to work in freshly ironed clothes. As he pulled on his boots (which had somehow found their way under the bed), a high pitched screech called his attention back to the window. The mother bird was now trying to make her way into the bedroom, her small claws scratching at the pane in a frantic attempt to reach the young man who killed her babies.

"Malik!"

"I'm coming!" he yelled back. The blonde shot what would seem to be an apologetic look to the distressed parent, however his lilac eyes were devoid of any pity.

"Sorry Mama."

"The motorcycle's been running for five minutes!"

"Well then turn it off stupid!" Malik growled, descending the stairs.

"Took you long enough," Mariku snorted as soon as his companion came into view. "What were you doing up there? Ironing?"

"You're funny," the other replied sarcastically.

"Did you want anything from the store?"

"Food."

"_Specifically_?" Mariku ground out.

"Strawberries?" Malik said hopefully.

"Ugh. That's so disgustingly cute."

"I'm sorry," the smaller blonde sighed, zipping up his jacket. "I mean, PINEAPPLE. That's a nice manly fruit, right?"

"I think 'manly fruit' is an oxymoron, isn't it?"

"Maybe?"

"Stop answering my questions with questions!"

"Yes sir," Malik smirked. "Oh! What did you want for dinner? I'm going to the hospital today, remember?"

"We'll talk about it on the way there," Mariku said disinterestedly, waving his keys in front of the other's face. "You're going to be late again."

There was a sudden thud from the upper level, followed by a strangled chirp. The smaller blonde hid a frown.

That stupid bird.

"What the hell was that?" Mariku blinked.

"No idea," Malik lied, clinging to the other man's arm childishly. "Oh, make sure you bring a sweater or something, it looks like it's going to rain." He blushed at the other's surprised expression. "D-Don't look at me like that! I just didn't want you to get sick, you know? Sheesh..."

-

An elderly woman with wrinkles as deep as some swimming pools began to cry profusely upon receiving the news that her dear husband of fifty some years had passed away earlier that morning after a long battle with leukemia. As she brought up her weathered hands to wipe away salty tears, her son, a very round, bearded man, hugged her closely, whispering encouraging words to his aged mother.

"I'm so sorry," Bakura saw quietly, bowing his head. "We did everything we could to make sure he was as comfortable as possible."

"He's at peace," she sobbed, burying her head into a flowered handkerchief. "At least I'll be joining him soon."

"Don't say that mom; you've got a lot more years to live..."

'Yeah, and I'm a brunette,' the young doctor thought irritably, bringing a pale hand to his face. Using his thumb and forefinger he pressed onto his eyes with slight force, causing them to water. Only then did he raise his gaze to the mournful pair, 'tears' all too apparent.

"He was one of the kindest patients I've ever had the honor to work with," he recited, shaking his head. "If you want, I can provide you with a list of memorial services around the area; it's the least I could do."

"Oh doctor..." the woman quivered.

"Your husband was a wonderful man Mrs. Williams, I'll never forget..." he blanked. What was that geezer's name? "Uh...h-him."

"Paul always spoke so highly of you Dr. Kagami," she said admiringly, moving to shake his hand. "I just know you were his one ray of sunshine in this horrible place."

'Ugh, the metaphors...' Bakura mentally gagged.

"Last Monday, Dad told us to add you onto his will," the son interrupted. "He said it would be his way of saying 'thank you' for all your hard work." A sad smile. "He really appreciated everything you did for him."

"Oh no, I_ couldn't_," the younger man said automatically.

"No, no, it's already been done," came the firm reply. "Sixty-thousand from Dad's life insurance is going straight to you."

"Well...if...if you insis_t_," he said in fake surprise. "That's _so_ generous of you."

"Not at all," his mother replied. "You're a wonderful man Dr. Kagami."

The family of two said even more mind-numbingly cliché phrases before Bakura finally managed to get them to leave, unable to force himself to care any longer. Still, he was more than pleased with the day's performance; sixty-thousand from _this_ grieving family coupled with the thirty-five thousand he roped earlier that morning from another pair brought his grand total to ninety-five...and he still had three more patients to visit!

"We are going to have a _lovely_ Christmas this year," he said happily, walking towards the front desk. "Amber?"

"Tough day sir?" The nurse said sympathetically.

"Yeah," Bakura sighed dramatically, turning in the deceased patient's file. "Two trips to the morgue already."

"That's horrible!"

"I know..."

"So who's up next?" he asked impatiently.

"Well, you've got Smith who has an awful case of cirrhosis..."

A bored look. 'He'll live.'

"...or Ishtar, who's been having that lung problem."

'_He_ probably _won't_.'

"Ishtar it is," he decided, taking the manila folder. "Tell the other one I'll be in later this afternoon, okay?"

"Will do!" She said energetically.

Bakura made his way through the hallway, tucking the file under his arm while he searched his many pockets for a small black phone. Upon locating it, he held down 6, triggering the autodial for the nearest, cheapest florist within a five mile radius. Sandwiching the device between his ear and shoulder, he stopped in front of the elevator and jammed the button hurriedly, tapping his foot while he waited.

"LA Bouquet, this is Jill, how can I help you?"

"This is Dr. Kagami from University Hospital..." Bakura trailed off, straightening a crooked frame on the wall.

"Oh! Did you want to make any changes to the order you placed this morning?" the young woman asked.

"Actually, I'd like to add another order onto that," he sighed mournfully, making sure to look extra sorrowful as a group of interns passed by. "You see, another one of my patients has unfortunately passed on."

"Wow, two in one day?"

"Heartbreaking, isn't it?"

"Y-Yeah...but it's so kind of you to go through all the trouble of sending their families all these roses." Bakura could almost see her blushing.

"Well, it's the least I could do; I'll e-mail the addresses later today, alright? I'm kind of inundated at the moment."

"Oh sure, no problem! Have a nice d–"

The pale doctor closed his cell with a flourish and proceeded to page through his next patient's file, raising an eyebrow at the number of doctors the thirty-six year old man had been transferred to. Mahogany eyes scanned the nearly illegible scribbles of his past physicians; they had diagnosed him with everything under the sun, though his reported symptoms clearly didn't match the criteria.

"Ovarian Cancer," Bakura blinked, reading one of the older notes. "...So apparently Dr. Wong thinks men have ovaries. _Okay_."

He shook his head as the elevator doors slid open, the cart crammed with irate nurses carrying trays of unsalted, colorless food. Trying his best not to gag at the sickly smell coming off what was supposedly roast beef (it looked more like a shapeless lump of tan), the young doctor waited patiently until he was brought to the fifth floor, home to the hospital's Intensive Care Unit as well as his office. Giving a fake, yet charming smile to any colleagues he happened to pass on the way to his patients room, Bakura mentally prepared himself for the onslaught of overly precious bullshit he was about to spew.

'It's for the money,' he told himself, turning another corner. 'It's for Ryou, and Amane, and Mom.'

"Oh, Kagami," a fellow doctor called out, "are you going to your office right now?"

"No, patient. Why?"

"You're going to have to take the long way when you do decide to go," the other man informed him. "The south hall's been closed for reconstruction for the rest of the week."

"Are you serious?" Bakura asked, voice deadpan.

"Sorry," he shrugged.

He gave a warning knock upon reaching Room 5-16, entering only when he heard the occupant's weak acknowledgement. Taking in a deep breath and straightening his lab coat, he opened the door slowly, being careful not to many any unnecessary noise.

Bathed in the artificial glow of the overhead florescent lights, the room took on an almost ethereal appearance. The monotonous beeping and blinking on the various monitors that surrounded the patient's bed were all too familiar to Bakura, as were the echoing clicks that sounded whenever he walked across the too-clean linoleum floors. What the pale doctor wasn't used to, was the lack of colorful balloons and overpriced greeting cards decorating the patient's bed. There was nothing of personal value this man's room, save for a dusty old coat and a pair of worn boots hidden away in the corner.

He approached the bed with the same half hearted smile he offered to everyone else. Lying tiredly on the covers was a dark skinned man, completely bald except for a long black ponytail at the back of his head. An ornate tattoo decorating the left side of his face. His gold eyes opened slightly as Bakura lingered over his still frame.

"Good afternoon Rishid." The young physician said warmly.

-

Ryou stifled a yawn before flipping through his tabloid for the ninth time, mahogany eyes occasionally peering over its pages to see if any customers had been unfortunate enough to stumble in. Weekday afternoons were notoriously slow business hours; this was especially true for employees at Marble's, a high-end grocery store that only a handful of the community was rich enough to shop in. Sometimes, someone would walk in out of curiosity, browsing the aisles with no real intention of buying anything. Other times, there'd be a person who'd leave immediately after seeing the price of their produce. The younger twin didn't mind much; his paycheck would still have the same unwavering value regardless of how much business they had.

"You should take up knitting," Amane said idly, straightening her apron. She had been hired only two weeks ago. "You always look so bored."

"Well, listening to soft rock for eight hours isn't exactly the most exciting way to pass the day," he replied, shrugging.

"Then what would you rather be doing?"

"...I'm not sure."

The girl scoffed, grabbing her own magazine. "Well then you don't have any right to complain, do you?"

"I suppose not," Ryou said sheepishly.

"Have you called Bakura today?"

"He's not answering his phone. He texted me something about having a few dead end cases this week; I suppose he's saving up his energy to deal with the grieving families."

"His job's really hard, isn't it?"

"In more ways than one," he sighed.

"So why doesn't he just quit?" Amane frowned. "Bakura's really good at making all those little toys; he told me he'd try his hand at making a dog if he ever has the time. He could always get a job working with stuff like that, you know?"

"Ask _him_," her brother snapped, remembering their argument the day before. "It's not my responsibility to make sure he's happy doing whatever he chose to do. I've nothing to do with his career decisions."

"Yeah, but at the same time, I think he's staying at his job because he wants to make you happy." Amber eyes locked with dark brown. "A lot of what he's done was to make everything better than it used to be. Besides, it's not that he hates his job now, he just doesn't like dealing with all the people. I think he still finds it fun." She giggled. "And the money's not too bad either."

"Yeah...the money," Ryou said quietly, feeling very guilty all of a sudden.

"Alright, I get it Malik, go back to work!"

The Kagami siblings looked towards the automatic door expectantly, hiding their gossip rags underneath the counter. A dark skinned blonde with wild hair walked in purposefully, an expensive looking cell phone pasted onto his left ear. Dressed fully in black and having more ear piercings than all of Amane's friends combined, he looked quite intimidating. Without bothering to spare a glance at the pair, he headed directly towards the produce section after picking up a small shopping basket. Whomever he was talking to really must've been annoying him; he looked about ready to chuck the device halfway across the store.

"He looks like an escaped convict," Amane observed. "What do you think?"

"Judging by the phone, I'd say he's probably the son of some rich businessman," Ryou sighed. "In other words, someone who can dress like _that_ without consequence because Daddy never taught him to use self restraint. Honestly, what is this world coming to? Don't people care about looking presentable anymore?"

"Not everyone a model citizen like you."

"I know. Shame, really. Kids these days."

She stifled a laugh. "He's like the same age as you!"

"Yes, but as you know, I have wisdom far beyond my years," Ryou said proudly.

"Yeah, sure..."

"Sorry, are you two on break?" Mariku asked irritably, carrying a box of organic cereal, a small jug of milk, a few bags of baked chips, and a rather large amount of strawberries in his basket. "I'd like give you my money now."

"Um, sure," Ryou nodded, starting up the register. "That was kind of quick."

"I don't like to browse."

"Well did you find everything you needed?"

"You don't have any non-salted almonds and your vegetarian section is lacking. Makes it very hard to shop for a demanding live in. Fix it."

"I'll...bring it up with my manager," the white haired male muttered, ringing up the first container of strawberries. "But other than that?"

"Do those look ripe to you?"

"Excuse me?"

"The fruit."

"Uh, yeah, they look alright to me."

"Great," the blonde said distractedly, turning over his credit card. "Paper," he added, seeing Amane reaching for the plastic bags. "And wrap some newspaper around the milk."

"Had practice giving orders?" She asked moodily.

"You're being paid to bag my things, not give to me any lip about my manners." Mariku retorted.

"Excuse me, that's my sister you're talking to!" Ryou blushed.

"So what?"

"So...watch your mouth!" was the lame response.

"Well since you're _so_ convincing," the other drawled sarcastically, taking back his card.

"We've got money too you know," Amane snapped, shoving the strawberries into the bag. "So don't act like you're any better than us!"

"Trust me, I do this to everyone." A sneer. "Upper middle class or otherwise."

"We're worth more than that!"

"Right. Little advice from someone who knows how this game works; _real_ wealthy people don't need to tell other people that they've got money. So the next time a customer comes in and tells you to, I don't know, do your job," he fixed his dark plum eyes on both brother and sister, "just shut up and do it."

"I...I apologize for her actions," Ryou said hesitantly, offering a slight bow. "I apologize for mine as well. Though..." he wasn't about to give up that easily, "if you hadn't been so rude, all of this could have easily been avoided."

"You sound just like my brother," the blonde pouted. "Eh, forget it, I've got better things to do than be criticized by a couple of albinos in a checkout line. You're lucky this is the only grocery store I ever bother going to. I can't stand those chain names, ugh." A smile, reminiscent of Malik's. "Have a nice day."

"What an ass!" the youngest Kagami hissed immediately after Mariku had left. "He thinks he can boss us around just because–"

"Amane, he had every right to tell us what to do; we _work_ here."

"Yeah, but he was so–"

"Brazen and crude? I agree. But he had a point." He sighed. "You can't go around telling everyone that our family is wealthy."

"He was treating us like a bunch of..."

"Commoners?" Ryou scoffed. "You know, a few years ago we were even lower than that. You can't let the money go to your head, it's not always going to be there. When you talk like that, you're no better than he is."

"At least we still buy our food at 'chain' stores..."

"But will we be doing so a year from now? You can never tell; money does strange things to people."

"And people do strange things for money," his sister countered. "It works both ways."

"Well it depends on what you consider strange." Ryou frowned. "We bag groceries and stock shelves; not only is that completely normal, it's rather dull."

"Well Bakura sticks his hands into people's abdomens and occasionally gives them hallucinogenic drugs."

"And he makes the most out of all of us. Huh. Interesting observation."

-

Bakura closed the door to Rishid's room and lingered hesitantly in the hallway, drumming his fingers against the plastered wall. He felt oddly uncomfortable after informing Malik that his stepbrother's condition was terminal, but was even more unnerved that those lilac eyes never seemed to waver as the news was being told, almost as if he knew exactly what was about to be said. Still, he couldn't help but feel genuinely _bad_ for the young blonde; maybe it was because the rain made him look extra pathetic, or because they had met in lighter circumstances prior to the revelation. One thing was certain; he didn't feel sorry for them because he _cared_. No, Malik was just another soon to be mourner that would bestow a large portion of Rishid's insurance to him out of 'gratitude' and 'thanks'.

They were all the same.

"Dr. Kagami, the last of the tests you ordered on Mr. Ishtar came in just now."

Bakura looked over his shoulder and found Amber, the young nurse that ran the front desk. He took the papers she held and flipped though them curiously.

"But...I got these tests this afternoon," he blinked.

"You got _half_ of the tests this afternoon," she corrected. "Didn't you notice you had a few missing?"

"...Oh yeah," Bakura lied, gaze flitting from the numbers to the young woman in front of him. "_Thanks_..."

"No problem, have a nice night sir!"

"You too," he said distractedly, looking over the new figures. There was one number that stood out to him like a sore thumb, a piece of data that threw his previous diagnosis out the proverbial window, along with the money that came with it.

"This could be a _little_ problematic…"

-

"So…other than the imminent death thing…how've you been?" Malik said brightly, making a wet 'flop' as he bounced into the cushioned chair.

"Bored out of my mind," Rishid answered, rolling his eyes. "All they give you is that little television way up there," he pointed to the small box, "I can barely see any football games, much less hear them. And some of the nurses are just plain rude."

"You'd think a hospital would be a little more…hospitable…"

"Yeah," he laughed. The older man looked warmly upon his brother, a sad smile forming on his lips. "You know, you're taking this whole death thing surprisingly well."

"Would you rather I act abnormally happy, offer to needlessly fluff your pillow, and pretend that we've never ever had a disagreement in our lives?" The blonde scoffed. "If that's what you were expecting, then I'm extremely disappointed in you Rishid."

"You were always so mean to me Malik…" Rishid joked.

"At least I'm genuine."

"But really; do you think you'll be alright without me?"

"I still have Mariku."

"That's why I'm so concerned…"

"But...he makes me smile..." Malik said fondly.

"He's also fond of drinking."

"Hey, he _paid_ for your treatment; the least you could do is thank him!"

"He may have coughed up the money, but Dr. Kagami is the one who _administered_ my treatment," Rishid countered, closing his eyes.

"That guy's just doing his job! I bet he puts on the same plastic faced goody two shoes act for every single patient under his care."

"He's given me nothing but the best care in the three weeks I've been under his care."

"Because that's what doctors _do_."

"I want his name on my will," Rishid said firmly, causing his stepbrother to stand up in shock, looking insulted. "It's the least I can do; Malik, he's been so kind to me–"

"You've known him for less than a month," Malik snapped. "Are you insane?"

"No, I'm dying."

"Oh, do _not_ play _that_ card." He sighed. "Besides, your insurance is all but gone; once they found out about your condition they practically sliced it into a third of what it was before."

"Then the doctor can have a third of that third," the other grinned. "Your boyfriend's got money, right?"

"You're totally missing the point."

"Malik, _please_."

"NO."

"You'd refuse a dying man's wish?"

"Yes, if I disagreed this strongly about it. You're making a snap decision Rishid, and you're always telling me I need to watch out for those."

"Ten thousand."

"_No_."

"It's the least I can–"

"I heard you the first time," Malik huffed. "I was going to use the money to pay back Mariku; but if you think it's more important to add gratuity on top of the tens of thousands you've already shoveled at him, then so be it."

"Malik–"

"I'm going to tell the good doctor," the blonde drawled sarcastically, gathering his things. "I hope we get to see each other before the time comes."

"Do you really want to see me off like this?" Rishid said indignantly. "For all you know I could be dead before tomorrow morning!"

"That's _FINE_! At least Dr. Kagami won't have to wait too long for his paycheck!"

"You're overreacting!"

"I have to buy dinner," he muttered under his breath, stomping out the door, slamming it without bothering to look back. "Later."

Bakura looked up, startled, still mulling over the newly received test results. Malik walked past him quickly, breathing a brief 'thank you' before heading towards the staircase. Shoving the paper into Rishid's folder, the young doctor followed him closely, jogging slightly to keep up.

"So, how'd it go?" he panted.

"Swimmingly," the blonde snapped.

"Could have fooled me."

The cafe host stopped and whirled around, lilac eyes ablaze. "I don't know what kind of act you're putting on for these poor people, but it _isn't funny_."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Bakura lied, though he was suddenly very nervous.

"Oh _right_. So you're only an asshole outside of the hospital. Yeah, okay." He tucked a strand of blonde behind his ear. "Listen sensei, you may have managed to fool my stepbrother, but don't you dare think you can play that game with me."

"Look, he's got about a week left, two tops." The other replied, leaning against the wall. "Do you really think I'd be heartless enough to treat dying patients like I'd treat someone I met at a host restaurant?"

"You're a _fake_," Malik spat.

"And you're insensitive!"

"Well guess what? Positive thoughts and well wishes won't help him get any better. So cut the crap!"

After one last glare, he turned around and continued toward the stairs.

Bakura scowled as all hopes of wooing the younger man were dashed. What's worse, at least for him, Rishid may not be dying at all. The chances were slight, but the latest figures indicated that the bald man may recover from his 'terminal' state if the appropriate medicine was prescribed as soon as possible. There was just enough money left over to pay for the treatment, all he needed to do was assign the order and it would be carried out later that night. Rishid might be saved.

He pulled a ballpoint pen from his front pocket, its point hovering over his memo pad. There wasn't any moral reason _not_ to write down the order, yet he still struggled to do it. The money was right there, dangling in front of him like catnip in front of a crazed kitten. And Malik...he still had to turn Malik into one of those mindless doctor worshiping vegetables like the rest; he wouldn't let that fiery temper overtake everything he worked so hard to accomplish. He couldn't allow anyone to challenge his name being on that will, it would raise too many suspicions.

Sighing tiredly, Bakura put away his pen and tossed the pad back onto the filing cabinet, its pages completely blank.

-

If you read carefully, you can pinpoint some of the character's weird mannerisms (Bakura and Malik's mostly, Mariku's is kind of hard.)

So, my college starts up again this Monday…I'll try to keep the updates (to this story in particular) fairly consistent.

...Hopefully math won't drain my soul.

**Review!**

**REVIEW!**

**Review Please!**

**V**


	4. Imitation Black

**Ningen**

**Summary:** (Prequel to Ningyo) Bakura, a corrupt physician, finds himself drawn to one of the servers from a popular cafe, the sweet yet stubborn Malik. However, a violent murder sets off a series of events that causes their lives to slowly unravel.

**Rated:** T

**Genre:** Romance/Drama

**Author's Note:** The semester's over and I can finally get back to my fics! I'm really sorry this took an age, but...you know, college is kind of...important and stuff.

Oh, gratuitous use of 'the f-word' by Mariku in this chapter.

**Disclaimer:** Yuugiou and all related characters belong to Kazuki Takahashi.

-

**4 – Imitation Black**

Bakura sat quietly in his office, the setting sun leaking into the otherwise dark room, bouncing off the small metal toys adorning his many shelves. Nearly two months had passed since he had given Rishid the disheartening diagnosis; however, either by sheer will or simply through dumb luck, the golden eyed Egyptian managed to cheat death time and time again. Initially, Bakura hadn't expected him to last more than two weeks; that time slowly extended to three weeks, then a month, a month and a half, and so on.

The possibility of misdiagnosing Rishid weighed heavily on the young doctor's mind; a few of his seniors were already poking fun at him for making such a drastic conclusion. Bakura himself was more than irritated at suddenly being the butt of everyone's joke; however, he was also understandably confused. It _was_ true; he _had_ made a misdiagnosis...he just decided not to do anything to correct it. But his inaction should have caused Rishid's _death_, not his recovery! He wasn't even attempting to administer any more medication; the catheters next to his bed were full of nothing but placebos and pain killers. It just didn't make any sense; unless he misdiagnosed his own misdiagnosis (a thought too atrocious to digest), Rishid should have died _weeks_ ago.

"Doctor?"

Bakura looked up testily, finding one of the new nurses hovering hesitantly outside his door.

"What is it?"

"One of your patient's relatives has just arrived; he wants to know if his brother will be discharged any time soon."

"...Which patient?" He asked, bracing himself for the answer.

"Um," she consulted the chart briefly, "R-Rishid Ishtar?"

The young doctor groaned, sinking deeper into his chair. He didn't have the patience to deal with that infuriating blonde right now. Malik had been visiting the hospital on a more regular basis, trying his best to avoid Bakura. They had met on one or two odd occasions, in which the smaller of the two just glared hatefully at the other before leaving in a huff.

"Is he in Rishid's room right now?" Bakura sighed, finally working up the strength to leave his seat. He supposed that if Malik was willing to listen, he should take full advantage of the rare event.

"Yes, I think so."

"I'll take care of it, thanks," he grumbled, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

Assuming Malik didn't throw a waste basket into his face when he walked in, Bakura planned to win back the blonde's favor in any way he could; now that Rishid looked to be perfectly healthy, it wasn't the will or money that Bakura was worried about, it was the potential lawsuit. He had overheard Malik telling Rishid about knowing a good lawyer, and the last thing the young doctor needed was for the annoying brat to find out he had been right about everything.

Bakura sighed again as he stood in front of Rishid's door.

It was now or never.

Malik was sitting by Rishid's bedside, a thick novel lying open on his lap; he didn't seem to be too interested in it though, as he was fast asleep. The blonde had a wool scarf wrapped around his neck and was dressed comfortably in padded boots and an expensive looking jacket. Bakura lifted his clipboard above his face in order to hide a rising blush. Why did something so cute have to be so annoying?

After making sure his color was in check, Bakura took a small step forward; his patient held up a finger and pointed to his younger brother wordlessly.

"He said about three words to me before he clocked out," Rishid chuckled softly.

"Well, he needs to be awake for me to answer his question," the pale doctor shrugged, drumming his fingers against the wall. "So, if you don't mind..."

The elder Egyptian nodded and nudged Malik lightly, rousing the blonde out of his light slumber. After taking a few moments to remember where he was (and why Mariku wasn't there), he straightened himself up and looked around embarrassedly, finally noticing the amused face of his arch nemesis as of two months ago.

"Two weeks left, huh doctor?" he mocked...or tried to at least. It was more of a half awake mumble.

"Nice to see you too," Bakura said dryly. "So you wanted to know when you could take him home, right?"

"If that isn't too much to ask," Malik yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"I still want to monitor him for a little while longer; I know that right now it looks like he's recovering, but I've seen cases where patients feel fine one day and die the next morning." He looked at Rishid embarrassedly. "N-Not that you're going to die tomorrow, I mean–"

"No, I understand completely," Rishid smiled.

"He's been getting better and better every time I've come to visit," the blonde protested. "What more do you need to observe?"

"Like I said before, we have no way of knowing if he's really getting better or if this is just a false–"

"So what, are you going to keep him in here until his natural death to make sure?"

"Don't be an idiot," Bakura snarled, losing his patience.

"Admit it, you just want to make sure he dies in time for your Christmas paycheck," Malik scoffed. "If he's doing as well as you say then discharge him already."

"Malik!" His brother gasped.

The young doctor leaned against the wall in frustration and began pinching the bridge of his nose. He was sensing another massive migraine on the way. There was no other way around it; the only way to shake off Malik's mounting suspicions was to take himself off Rishid's will. It wasn't exactly a big loss, but it was going to be a frightfully embarrassing and humbling experience; and after his mishap with Rishid's diagnosis, he wasn't in the mood for another one. After a deep breath, Bakura turned to Rishid, face dead serious.

"Mr. Ishtar, can I ask that you please remove my name from your will?"

Malik looked up in surprise, lilac eyes wide. Rishid sat up with some difficultly, fixing Bakura with an intense stare.

"But doctor, I ins–"

"No, _I_ insist. Your family's already spent enough money taking care of you; it's only right that they get some of it back."

"If you're doing this because of my brother–"

"Well he's _part_ of the reason, but–"

"Don't let him manipulate you!"

At this, Malik's expression seemed to darken for a brief moment; Rishid, as if suddenly realizing what he'd just said, turned away apologetically.

"By that I mean...the decision to add you was mine; it is _my_ will after all."

"If you keep my name on it, I'll burn all the money I receive," Bakura threatened. "Please remove my name from your will."

The large man gave a frustrated sigh and nodded. "Done."

"Good; now that we have all this unpleasantness out of the way, maybe we can start focusing on things that actually matter, like getting you home in time for the holidays. Since your check up isn't until tomorrow, I'm going to monitor a few other patients; send the nurse if you need me. Have a nice day," he said airily, glancing briefly at Malik, who had a _very_ faint blush on his cheeks. "I'll see you tomorrow morning Mr. Ishtar."

Rishid nodded as Bakura exited the room before turning to his flustered younger brother, a wide smile on his face.

"He's left you speechless."

"I just didn't want to interrupt such a heartwarming moment," Malik returned indignantly, holding the book in front of him. "This doesn't prove anything; it's just another part of his twisted plan to get our money."

"...By refusing it?"

"Don't expect me to know how the mind of a con-artist works!"

"Malik, why does _everyone_ have to have an ulterior motive?"

"I'm only being realistic."

"You just don't want to admit that you were overreacting," Rishid smirked. "Go apologize for making a scene."

"It wasn't a scene if there was no one there to see it," the blonde huffed.

"Believe me; every patient in the ICU could hear you."

"Half the patients are comatose!"

"Exactly."

"Oh, stop the presses, Rishid made a funny," Malik said dryly, placing his book onto the small desk next to Rishid's bed. "Does Isis know how you're treating her precious little brother?"

All traces of humor suddenly left the elder Egyptian's face; he suddenly looked somewhat panicked. "You've spoken to her? Is she coming here?"

"Uh...I don't think so... She e-mailed me a few days ago asking if she had missed your funeral," he shrugged, pulling up said message on his cell phone and showing it to Rishid.

"Isis hasn't spoken to us since you were _eight_!"

"Which makes me wonder how in the hell she even got a hold of my e-mail," Malik blinked. "I'm sure the good doctor has _something_ to do with it... Anyway, I can't remember if she was a bitch or not, so I'm not exactly sure how I should reply."

"Tell her I'm not dead," Rishid said flatly.

"Yeah, but should I be all formal about it or should I be...you know, _me_?"

"...How would 'you' respond?"

"I'd tell her we weren't planning on having one, since you aren't dying after all."

"That sounds–"

"Then I'd offer to kill you myself if she wanted to attend one so badly," Malik finished rather innocently. "You know; bring the last two Ishtar kids together for a family picture."

"She's going to think you've grown up to be a psychopath," Rishid advised.

"Only a _little_ bit," the blonde smiled eerily.

"Nix the last part and hit send; we don't need a visit from her right now."

"I'll do it later; I'm going to go meet the good doctor in his office and yell at him for selling my e-mail address."

"How do you know he did it?"

"As far as I'm concerned, everything that goes wrong is his fault," Malik replied solemnly, giving his brother a brief wave goodbye. "I'll see you sometime this week!"

"Have fun," Rishid sighed, sinking into the mattress.

The svelte blonde peeked around the hallway and found Bakura talking animatedly to a young nurse. Deciding to approach with significantly less animosity than before, Malik quietly snuck up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder, causing the doctor to jump.

"Geez! What the hell–?"

"Doctors shouldn't swear in front of their patients," Malik advised, holding a finger up. "It's very unbecoming. May I talk to you for a second?" He looked over Bakura's shoulder. "In private?"

"Why don't you just call me out in front of the whole hospital like you did last time?" The other said testily.

"Do you want me to? Because I will."

"Then _do it_."

Without warning, the blonde suddenly burst into tears and grabbed the sleeve of his lab coat.

"Why isn't he getting any better doctor? You told me that if I slept with you, you'd be able to find out what was wrong with his heart," Malik sobbed, loud enough to garner the attention of the entire floor. "Even though I knew it was wrong, I did it…because I wanted my brother to live! You told me he would be alright, you promised that if I licked your–"

"HA, you're such a kidder," Bakura laughed hastily, clamping a hand over his mouth. "Rishid put you up to this, didn't he? Remind me not to give him any extra pudding tonight! Heh… Do you want me to get _fired_?" He hissed into the other's ear.

Malik nodded.

"…_Fine_! We'll go to my office, just _shut_ _up_!"

After giving the doctor a thumbs up, the youngest Ishtar was pulled roughly into a long hallway, the pale hand still covering part of his face. Bakura nodded nervously to his colleagues, who looked very amused. The pair stopped in front of a door hanging slightly off its hinges, and after Bakura fished out his keys, he promptly threw the blonde into the small room, slamming the already weakened door shut.

"Have you no _shame_?" He hissed, whipping around.

"Shame is for the weak," Malik announced proudly, plopping into one of Bakura's chairs. "And it worked, didn't it?"

"What do you want this time? Have you somehow managed to convince yourself that taking my name off the will is a bad thing?"

"Why did you give my older sister my e-mail address?"

"What?"

"A message from her was in my inbox last week asking me about Rishid's funeral; I'm going to assume you contacted her after you made the (WRONG) diagnosis, right?"

"Well...maybe," Bakura said offhandedly. "But why would that be such a big deal? It's just standard procedure! We always contact immediate family members when we have a terminal case on our hands. She called me back asking for your e-mail address, so I gave it to her; are you really going to throw a fit over _that_?"

"She hasn't spoken to either of us in over a _decade_," Malik said dully.

"...Sorry?"

"Yeah. The day after I turned eight she just got up and left without a word; we found out she'd gone to Egypt after seeing her during a news report a few years later. She became a museum curator." The blonde gave Bakura a bemused look. "Rishid doesn't want her coming over, ever. He says it would ruin the nice sibling dynamic we have...whatever it is."

"How in the hell was I supposed to know that?" Bakura said defensively, moving to sit behind his desk. "I'm not psychic!"

"You don't have to be psychic to know that's it's _rude_ to hand out e-mail addresses left and right to anyone who asks! Why do you even _have_ my e-mail?"

"Have you visited Honey Milk's website?"

"...We have a website?" Malik blinked.

"The contact information for all of the hosts is on there," Bakura sighed. "I just pulled up your name and gave it to her." He held up his hands, "Yeah, I'll admit it was none of my business and I probably should've asked you. But I figured–"

"You didn't think that _something_ might have been up when you got billed for a five minute call from Egypt?" A scoff. "For a doctor, you're kind of clueless, aren't you?"

"Here's an idea: Change. Your. E-Mail. Address!"

"Why should I have to suffer for _your_ inconsiderate screw up?"

"Do you _enjoy_ making mountains out of molehills?" Bakura asked exasperatedly. "Honestly, nothing I do seems to satisfy you. Were you dropped on the head as a baby?"

"For someone who paints himself as a caring, sensitive physician, you're very quick to judge," Malik taunted. "But I'm not here to argue with you anymore; despite you trying to wreck what's left of my family, I've come to make amends with you Doctor Kagami."

"Could have fooled me. I've honestly never meet anyone with trust issues as insane as yours."

"Having trust issues isn't a necessarily _bad_ thing. I mean, you can't just go through life believing what other people say; that's stupid."

That simple statement caused a light bulb to flicker on inside Bakura's mind. He was genuinely surprised that Malik didn't deny having a neurotic paranoia when it came to other people; in fact, he seemed somewhat _proud_ of it. What happened to the irritating, yet considerably personable host he had met months before? Was that just an act? Or was _this_ the act? Malik also seemed to be very defensive when it came to his family, and yet elusive at the same time. _Why_ did his sister suddenly leave? _Why_ didn't Rishid want her to come visit? The offhanded remarks Malik had said to make him feel guilty only made him more curious.

Then there were his eyes; those hauntingly blank orbs that unsettled anyone who dared stare at them for long enough.

Things suddenly became _very_ interesting.

"...How did you get those scars under your eyes?" Bakura asked suddenly, catching the blonde off guard. Lilac eyes, empty as always, met his for another brief moment.

"What, you mean these things?" he scoffed, pointing to the jagged lines just above his cheekbone. "They're just tattoos. I got them during my junior year in high school; Rishid was _so_ pissed at–"

"Don't try to lie about puncture wounds to a _doctor_; tattoos are made with small needles laced with ink that pierce the skin repeatedly. This," Malik froze as a pale finger ran across his face, "was done with a single cut from, I assume, a very sharp blade." Mahogany eyes focused firmly upon shaken lilac. "Seems they didn't heal very evenly; there's a very noticeable roughness to the scarring."

"Now _you're_ trying to make something out of nothing," the blonde returned coolly, rising from his chair. "If you want to believe that they're something more than what they are, then that's your decision." A dry smile. "But...I suppose I could tell you a little more about what they mean if you come to the cafe later tonight. Dinner's on the house."

"Are you trying to set up a _date_ Ishtar? Is that what all this is about?"

"Not on your life," Malik spat, crossing his arms. "It's just my own little way of apologizing to you for being so..."

"Bitchy and judgmental?"

"_Negative_ towards you for the past two months," he finished. "I'll admit that the thought of my big brother dying had a huge impact on what I said to you that night. The things I said...might have been a little out of line."

"A lot out of line," Bakura corrected, looking very cross and yet strangely satisfied. "You implied that I was manipulating my terminal patients into placing my name onto their will; how heartless do you think I am?"

Of course, this was exactly what he was doing; Malik had hit the proverbial nail right on the head. But he didn't need to know that now. ...Not that it mattered anyway, since Rishid's magical recovery made all talk of death and wills totally out of the question.

"That's why I'm _trying_ to make up for it," the blonde sighed, flustered.

"By allowing me to spend time with you?" The doctor teased. "You have a rather heavy ego, don't you?"

"If you don't want to take my offer, then just say so," Malik huffed, turning to leave. "Sorry for trying to kiss and make up..._metaphorically_," he added upon seeing the other man's devilish grin. "Geez, how lonely _are_ you?"

"Lonely enough to accept your little invitation," Bakura replied, still smiling. "What time are you opening tonight?"

"Eight, but it can get kind of hectic. Nine's a much better option if you'd like to hear yourself think."

"Nine it is then."

"Great, I'll see you there," Malik said brightly, redoing the scarf around his neck. "Later, _sensei_!"

The college student exited his office shortly after, leaving the confused doctor to sort through his thoughts. Why did it feel so good to hear him say that?

-

Mariku checked his watch again before taking another sip of his iced tea. He had been waiting next to the public library for what seemed like hours (it had actually only been fifteen minutes), and he was getting impatient.

It all started that morning when he had received yet another text message asking him for the money he owed; luckily, Malik had been sound asleep at the time, so there were no awkward explanations necessary. After they had their morning breakfast, Mariku announced that he had some business to take care of with Mahaado. The smaller blonde was curious as to what that business may be, but knew not to barge into what he assumed to be Inanna family business.

He looked at his watch yet again; it was nearly 4:00 and he was getting hungry.

As if on cue, a hooded stranger came into view, hands shoved into the kangaroo pouch of his jacket and visibly shivering. Mariku looked on with mild interest, sucking the last remaining drops of his drink through a chewed up straw. The figure looked around nervously, catching the attention of a curious older woman pushing a shopping cart full of borrowed books. She gave Mariku a questioning look.

He shrugged in response.

Tired of watching the wannabe ninja embarrass himself, Mariku called out impatiently.

"Enough Varon. You're scaring the elderly."

Swearing colorfully under his breath, Varon walked briskly to where the blonde stood, pulling down his hood revealing a mop of messy brown hair.

He didn't exactly fit the gangster demographic, especially wearing that ratty old sweatshirt (with an emphasis on 'sweat'); but Mariku knew better than to push his luck with Varon; behind those seemingly innocent blue eyes was a cunning criminal with a knack for blackmail. That was the main reason he had even bothered showing up that day; the sooner he removed Malik from the line of fire, the better.

"Way to look inconspicuous," Mariku snorted sarcastically, tossing his empty drink behind him.

"You're one to talk you walking pincushion," the new arrival growled.

"Oh yes, I haven't heard _that one_ before," he snorted, fingering one of his many piercings.

"Did you happen to grow a pair since I spoke to you over the phone?" He sneered. "You sounded like you were about to wet yourself back then."

"Believe me, you're much less threatening in person," Mariku shrugged. "So let's get this over with; you said three thousand right?"

Varon smirked. "So you _were_ paying attention."

"It's one of my many talents," the blonde said dully, removing a white envelope from his backpack. "Here."

Mariku watched with narrowed eyes as his former friend paged through the crisp bills desperately, silently mouthing the amounts. After running them through twice, he looked up expectantly, hand held out.

"Where's the rest?"

"There is no _rest_," Mariku snarled. "You said I owed three thousand, I gave you three thousand. We're _done_."

"That's true, I did ask for that much. But you should've known that I was expecting more."

"Well you aren't getting any more than what I gave you!"

"Mariku," Varon laughed, pocketing the wad of cash. "Didn't your daddy teach you anything about _interest_?"

"You can't be serious!"

"Oh, but I _am_," he smiled deviously. "Let's see…it's five percent interest for each month you didn't pay me, so that's one hundred and fifty dollars multiplied by twenty-four…hmm…you wouldn't happen to have a calculator, would you?"

"_Fuck you Varon_," Mariku hissed, raising a fist.

"If you want that little kitten of yours to come back home tonight, I really wouldn't do that," the brunette warned, watching the blonde's struggle with twisted glee. "It comes to around thirty six thousand, but I'll be nice and lower it to thirty five, yeah?"

"_Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you_…"

"That's right, let it all out. Better not overdo it though; I might add interest to the interest."

Mariku thought it best to bite his tongue. Literally.

"Two weeks," Varon announced, holding up his fingers. "That's as long as I'm willing to wait without consequence. You know what happens if you exceed that, right?"

"Quit dangling him in front of me like bait," the blonde barked. "I'd get you your fucking money faster if you'd just take him out of the equation!"

"But then what leverage would I have over _you_?"

"I…"

"Two. Weeks."

Mariku clenched his fists. He wouldn't get it in time, it was impossible…

"I can't."

"Sorry?" Varon chimed.

"Make it three."

"You aren't in the position to make deals," he growled.

"Make it three or you're getting _nothing_," Mariku countered.

"Like I said, you aren't in the position to make deals!"

"Then I guess you aren't getting anything."

"The kitten's getting _cut_," Varon snarled.

"I won't let you," he said dangerously. "If you insist on blood, then it's either going to be _yours_ or _mine_."

"…You're on Inanna."

-

"Did you guys switch tea?" Bakura asked, swishing the light colored liquid in his cup. "It doesn't taste as sweet as it did last time I was here."

"Actually, I just didn't add as much sugar," Malik shrugged. "I remember how much you bitched at me last time…"

"Aww, you _do_ care!"

"That's getting old," the blonde muttered irritably. "So what embarrassing task are you going to make me perform this time sensei?"

"What makes you think I'm going to do anything like that?"

Malik silently pointed to the nurse's outfit folded neatly to the right of Bakura's seat.

"Oh that…I was bringing it to the dry cleaners for a friend."

"Uh huh."

"What, you don't believe me?" Bakura gasped, feigning insult.

"Not going to happen," Malik stated dryly.

"Who's the customer here? I thought host humiliation came with the package?"

"Actually, I only paid for the package where I pretend to flirt with you and shove fattening food at your face."

"Pretend? You're doing a pretty good job then."

"Like I said, that's getting old. _Really_ old," the blonde huffed.

"Well, you did invite–Ouch!"

Bakura abruptly dropped the small tea cup he was holding (luckily, it was empty) and shook his left hand gingerly, a small drop of blood welling up on his middle finger.

"What happened?" Malik asked in concern.

"Didn't you guys just open a few months ago? Why the hell are you using chipped cups in service?"

"Chipped?" He glanced at the container to discover that the handle did indeed have a rather sharp cut in it. There was also, to his horror, a tiny smear of red. Malik then moved to look at Bakura, who was still shaking his hand, the same red liquid running sluggishly down his finger.

He cringed.

"S-Stop waving your arm around like that!"

"You mean like this?" Bakura grinned, repeating the motion with more intent.

"_STOP_!"

The doctor did so, rather abruptly, surprised to see just how upset the blonde was. Taking the moment of pause to his advantage, Malik grabbed one of the cafe's cloth napkins and bunched it around Bakura's wound, squeezing it a little too hard.

"You're cutting off my circulation," he complained. "It was just a little cut!"

"The blood is dripping, it's deep enough!"

"I never pinned you down as the squeamish kind Malik," Bakura smirked. "Is that why you're working at this candy coated hot spot instead of say...Hot Topic?"

"_Please_, if I wanted to hang out with whiny girls and fake vampires I'd wait until Halloween. They do have really nice accessories though, I'll give them– STOP MOVING!"

"I can't feel my finger anymore!"

"Well I have to make sure no more comes out!"

"No more what comes out?"

"_Blood_ you sad excuse for a doctor!"

"Blood? Is _that_ what you're getting all worked up about?"

"I don't like seeing it," Malik laughed nervously, still holding onto his finger. "It's rather unappetizing, don't you think?"

"Actually, seeing as I am a 'sad excuse for a doctor', not really," Bakura shrugged. "I mean, I wouldn't eat a sandwich while watching surgery, but I wouldn't have a problem doing it afterwards." He smiled. "You're kind of an interesting person Malik."

"Being squeamish around blood makes me interesting?"

"Not because of _that_..." He trailed off, looking at his hand.

"Then what?" The blonde asked, genuinely curious.

Mahogany eyes closed in thought before Bakura scoffed dismissively. "Eh, it's nothing. Just thinking out loud I guess." A pause. "So what do you do when you get a paper cut?"

"I put a band-aid on it…"

"Before or after the freak out?"

"I don't have a problem with my own blood," Malik shrugged, tying the cloth into a knot. "And I don't mind scary movies because I know it's all fake (at least I hope so). It's everyone else's that I'm worried about. There's just something about the color and the smell and…ugh, I'm grossing myself out. C-Can you go to the bathroom and try to clean some of it off?"

"Wow, you're really hung up on this aren't you?"

"If I say yes, will you go?"

"I'm gone," Bakura sighed, getting up. "Hey."

Malik looked up, still looking rather embarrassed about his near panic attack.

"...Sorry."

"For what?" The blonde said, completely shocked.

"For...stuff," he said with some difficulty. "Just...yeah. I'm...gonna go wash my hands now."

"Okay," Malik blinked, slightly confused. "Have fun..."

He watched as the young doctor stumbled over another table (giving Rebecca a mini-heart attack) while making his way to the bathroom and rolled his eyes at the other's sudden clumsiness. He then turned with much apprehension towards the bloodied napkin lying on the table. Did he really have to touch it?

...Well of course he had to, how else would he be able to move it?

'It's times like this when I wish I had telekinesis,' he thought bitterly, reaching out to grab the offending piece of cloth.

"Hey! You can't just walk in here without an appointment! Hey! Get back here!"

"Malik!"

"Mariku?" Malik said in surprise. Despite being fond of trailing him wherever he went, Mariku almost never came to the Honey Milk Cafe. He understandably had more than a few issues about needing to _pay_ to spend time with Malik.

"Is your shift over yet?" the taller blonde whispered urgently, pulling him toward the back of the cafe. Mai followed closely behind them.

"Not for another two hours, why?"

"We have to go now."

"What? Why?"

"Because...look, you just have to come with me right now!"

"But I'm right in the middle of a session!" Malik protested, gesturing to the table. "What am I supposed to tell–?"

"Kujaku," Mariku growled, fixing a threatening glare onto the head host. "I'll pay double for the rest of whatever is left."

"Uh...that's fine with me..." Mai blinked, backing away ever so slightly. "But what should I tellyour client?"

The young host looked back to his table, the bloodstained napkin still lying on Bakura's plate. The young doctor still hadn't returned from the bathroom; what if the cut was more serious that he thought? For all he knew, Bakura could be stitching up his wound in one of the stalls. Or worse, his finger had fallen off and he was trying to fish it out of the toilet. The macabre thought was too much to take.

"I don't know...just tell him I had to leave for personal reasons?"

The well-endowed blonde sent him a quizzical look.

"Well it's true!"

"Ugh, sure kid; but you owe me," she grumbled, going back into the main room.

"What's this all about?" Malik asked, turning back to Mariku.

"We have to go Malik. _Now_."

"_Why_?"

"Because!"

"That isn't an _answer_ Mariku!"

"Because I said so, how's that for a fucking answer?" He snapped, temper flaring.

"What did you just say to me?" Malik hissed, snatching his hand back and taking a step forward.

Mariku then did something quite unexpected.

He flinched.

Malik paused, a wave of confusion washing over him. Had he done something wrong? He didn't mean to... Was Mariku going to be upset with him? He hoped not...

Something small and unpleasant stirred in the back of his mind.

The cafe was gone; he was surrounded by black walls, walls that were closing in on him with a frightening speed. But he wasn't alone; a frantic voice was echoing throughout his shrinking room, a voice belonging to what _had_ to be a young child.

'_I'm sorry_,' it sobbed, '_I'm so sorry!_ _It wasn't my fault, I didn't know what else to do!_'

What wasn't his fault?

'_Why won't you look at me anymore?_'

Look at who?

'_Sister!_'

"Sister..." Malik repeated, eyes blank.

Mariku looked on worriedly; the gold band around Malik's neck had caught a stray beam of light and reflected it into his eyes, causing him to flinch. However, this simple reaction had somehow caused the smaller blonde to become lost in his own little world.

He took Malik's face into his hands, waking him up from the abrupt nightmare. Mariku brought him close, their noses almost touching. The smaller blonde felt his already shaken breath catch in his throat. It suddenly became very hard for him to breathe properly, but it wasn't because Mariku was holding him too tight.

"Are you okay?"

"I...I think so..." He mumbled. '_Okaaaay_, what the fuck just happened? I need to stop watching so many late night horror movies with Mariku...'

"Malik _please_," he said desperately, plum eyes locking into fearful lilac. "We have to go home...I have to tell you something, but I can't say it unless–"

"I'm sorry," Malik said quietly, a faint light flickering somewhere behind his pale irises. "I'll...l-let's go."

Mariku gave a sigh of relief and lead him towards the entrance.

The bell hadn't even stopped chiming when Bakura waltzed out of the bathroom, a ridiculously floral bandage wrapped around his injured finger.

"Nice," Mai snorted.

"It was the only kind in your severely limited first aid box," he said defensively. "…Wait, why are _you_ here? Where's Malik?"

"He had some personal business to take care of."

"You mean he just _left_?"

"Actually, the personal business came in and took him," she muttered; Bakura wasn't sure if she was being sarcastic or not.

"So I just leave?"

"Unless you want to serve yourself cookies and tea, that'd probably be a good idea. You weren't paying for this session, right?"

"He said it'd be on the house," Bakura mumbled, rubbing his finger.

"Then at least you didn't waste your money," Mai grunted as she lifted the now full tray. "Have a nice night Kagami."

"You too…I guess."

He noticed that the napkin Malik had wrapped around his finger had fallen to the floor, under the table. Against his better judgment, the young doctor stooped down and picked it up, looking around sheepishly before placing it into his back pocket.

-

No, Malik is not a vampire (rolls eyes). Anyway, I hope that was worth the wait; tell me what you think in your **review**!

...PSST. That means I want you **review**. I'll give them to Malik for his birthday!

**REVIEW!**


	5. House of Cards

**Ningen**

**Summary:** (Prequel to Ningyo) Bakura, a corrupt physician, finds himself drawn to one of the servers from a popular cafe, the sweet yet stubborn Malik. However, a violent murder sets off a series of events that causes their lives to slowly unravel.

**Rated:** T

**Genre:** Romance/Drama

**Author's Note:** Phew, I managed to get this out before spring semester started! I'm going to try my damndest to get Chapter Six out before January 25, but if I don't, then…well, then I won't. But at least I'll have a good chunk of it done!

**Disclaimer:** Yuugiou and all related characters belong to Kazuki Takahashi.

-

**5 – House of Cards  
**  
Bakura locked his car door with an annoyingly high pitched chirp, the headlights flashing twice to further signal that it was now safe and sound. Privately, he wondered when automobile technology would become advanced enough so that cars could do more than honk and blare once an unruly thief managed to force his way inside. The ridiculous schematics of the old Transformers cartoon suddenly came to mind; it would be rather amusing to witness someone being manhandled by a broken down Volkswagen. He then dismissed the thought with a shake of his head as he attempted to pull an oversized trench coat over his shoulders.

Ever since either of his siblings could remember, Bakura always had a skilled hand when it came to any kind of machinery; whether it was creating simple toys to entertain Amane, or taming Ryou's misbehaving laptop, their elder brother would always find some ingenious way to solve the problem. Granted, some of his solutions danced along the lines of illegal, but the results were almost always worth the risk. Again, they were _almost always_ worth the risk.

Bakura walked up the familiar pebble studded pathway that led to his front door, shooing away the neighbor's obese grey cat. The hefty feline often prowled around their garden at night, probably in search of one of the many squirrels Amane had insisted on 'rescuing'. Fortunately, the small rodents managed to escape before the young Kagami managed to smother them with misplaced love. The cat mewed in irritation and attempted to steal away into the night; Bakura thought it looked more like a swollen water balloon rolling sluggishly down a slight incline. He chuckled lowly, inserting his house key into their lock and giving it a firm twist.

Upon entering his living room, the young doctor could hear the low rumble of dramatic orchestrated music blaring from their plasma television. Ryou had been hesitant about letting Bakura purchase something so needlessly luxurious, but upon experiencing its theatre-like sound capabilities, the younger twin instantly fell in love with the pricy device; he hadn't lived an afternoon away from it.

Ryou was seated comfortably on their worn leather couch, allowing himself to sink into its soft cushions. A half eaten pouch of popcorn was propped in between his legs, the strangely alluring scent of powered butter wafting through the room. It wasn't until Bakura dropped his messenger back onto their kitchen table that his younger brother noticed his arrival.

"Oh, Bakura! You're home early, huh?" He smiled. "Looks like someone can't wait to start their four day vacation!"

"My evening out was cut a little short," his brother replied, sounding a bit disgruntled. "Where's Amane?"

"She's sleeping over at a friend's house for the weekend."

"So then I guess I'll give these to you," Bakura smirked, tossing Ryou a small satchel of peanut butter cookies. They were bundled in a lilac cellophane wrapper, tied closed with an ornate pink bow. "Courtesy of the Honey Milk Café."

"You went back to that place?"

"I was invited," he corrected, undoing his scarf. "And service was on the house, so before you start screeching about wasting money–"

"Invited?" Ryou scoffed, sampling one of the treats. "You mean one of those guiltless hosts actually liked being verbally belittled?"

"Well, not everyone can get a job as a _cashier_ Ryou," Bakura said scathingly. "You have to do what you have to in order to make a living. And it's not as bad as you're making it out to be either–you aren't even allowed to touch any of them."

The younger twin noticed a tinge of disappointment in his voice. "So which one invited you? That busty blonde with the caked on makeup?"

"You wouldn't know."

"I had a pretty good look at all of them while I was in there," Ryou insisted, hating himself for finding the cookies so delicious. "Try me."

"His name's Malik."

"Physical description if you wouldn't mind; I didn't memorize their name tags."

"Uh…well they're all blonde…he's got dark skin, wears his hair in a kind of loose ponytail?"

"…The one with doll eyes."

"Sorry?" Bakura started, looking at his brother curiously.

"He's the one with the doll eyes, right?" Ryou repeated, turning to face Bakura. "I saw him while I was leaving that night; he was throwing away some garbage."

"I've never heard that term before."

"Well there's no other way to describe it," he shrugged. "They're sort of dead looking, don't you think? I mean _I_ only saw them for a split second and I'd gotten the chills. I've no idea how you can deal with them for so long."

"I try to focus on what's under them," Bakura answered, beginning to make a fresh pot of coffee. "He's got the oddest scars underneath them, but he's trying to play them off as tattoos." He turned the processor on, filling their kitchen with the smell of hazelnut. "I'm going to try and slip him up the next time I see him; his step brother is one of my patients, that 'miracle' one I was telling you about."

"Small world," Ryou commented, changing the channel. "Pour me a cup too please?"

"Sugar?"

"Of course."

"You think it's weird that I'm so hung up on this don't you," the elder twin said with slight disdain.

"A touch," he admitted. "But being surrounded by the ill everyday has to have some side effects I suppose."

"…Do you think they could be caused by an illness?"

"What? The scars?"

"The doll eyes…maybe he's legally blind or something."

"Ask him if he finds you attractive; if he says yes, then _most definitely_."

"You _do_ know that we look exactly alike, don't you?" Bakura growled, retrieving two teacups from an overhead cupboard.

"It was worth it," Ryou smirked. "But honestly, I don't know. I think they're creepy that's for sure; but it may just be from genetics or something." He paused, looking up thoughtfully. "Do you have a mental ward in your hospital?"

"We do. Why?"

"You know, they say when someone sees something that's emotionally traumatizing, you can usually read it in their eyes," he advised. "Maybe you should ask one of your psychiatrist friends. Oh, but you don't really have any 'friends' do you?"

"The doctors who work the mental ward aren't all there themselves," Bakura snorted, making sure to pour extra cream into Ryou's cup. "They play Sudoku during their lunch breaks; they actually find that sort of thing _fun_."

"Well what do _you_ do?"

"I eat, as that is what lunch time is for. How many teaspoons of sugar?"

"Three," Ryou said promptly. "It still wouldn't hurt to ask; what's the worse that could happen? If it's really bothering you this much then information from a professional should prove to be more satisfying than just looking it up on the Internet, you know?"

"I'll do it on Wednesday," Bakura sighed tiredly, passing his brother the lighter, sweeter cup of coffee. "All I'm really concerned about right now is not waking up until midday tomorrow."

"That shouldn't be too hard," the other giggled, taking a tentative sip. "Ooh, hot."

Both twins sat quietly on the couch, watching, but not really seeing whatever was on the television screen. Ryou had been watching a late night documentary on the French Revolution before Bakura had stepped in, but had since changed it to their local news channel. Right now, they were on their 'World News' segment, a continuing story on the growing tensions between Kyoto and Osaka. The possibility of a full blown civil war was all but certain. It was a shame really; Ryou had been planning to ask Bakura if they might be able to fly to Kyoto over the summer to 'reconnect' with their parents' beloved homeland.

"I wonder how Amane's doing," the younger twin mused, rubbing his pinky across the rim of the cup. "Maybe I should call and check up on her?"

"If you want the rest of the girls at the party to point and laugh at her, then go right ahead Ryou."

"Why would they make fun of her? Because she has family members that actually care about what she's doing?"

"Call and find out."

"…Nevermind then," Ryou pouted, attention returning to the television.

"Amane says her friends think we're hot." Bakura remembered suddenly for some odd reason.

"That's…good."

At that exact moment, a familiar melody rang from Bakura's back pocket.

"Your phone is ringing," Ryou said quietly, his mouth covered by an overstuffed pillow. "Maybe it's Amane…oh, but that's not her ring, is it?"

"Wouldn't know; I don't hear anything," his sibling replied, eyes closed.

"You'd better answer it."

"It feels like we've had this discussion before."

"That's because you never want to do your job," Ryou mumbled, giving Bakura a firm poke. "Answer it."

A disgruntled whine was his only response.

"Bakura–"

"I'm on _vacation_."

"That's not an excuse. Answer it!"

"No!"

"I really don't want to get into another argument, please–"

"This better be _fucking_ important," Bakura hissed, finally succumbing to his twin's demands. "If you hadn't checked that gigantic white board hovering over your tornado stricken desk, I'm on _vacation_! That means _leave me the fuck alone until I come back_! Honestly, that's the only thing the hospital puts you in charge of! If you can't even manage to handle that then you can kiss your dreams of passing this internship good–"

"Mr. Kagami, there's someone in our waiting room who wanted to see one of your patients," the voice on the line said calmly, totally unfazed by his outburst. "Should I let her in? It's already well past visiting hours."

"Which patient?" he asked, trying very hard not to hang up.

"Rishid Ishtar."

"Malik's visiting _again_?"

"It's not him, it's some woman–"

"Let me talk to her," Bakura grumbled giving Ryou an annoyed look; his twin stifled a giggle. "I swear our interns have about as much common sense as a chicken with its head cut off."

"Don't be mean," the other chided, enjoying his coffee. "You should be happy that they trust you so much."

The young doctor rolled his eyes and waited as the phone was passed around, all the while, drumming his fingers on Ryou's lap.

"Hello?" A new voice, strong and somewhat solemn, entered the line.

"Who is this?" Bakura asked.

"My name is Isis Ishtar; I-I was wondering if it was still possible to see my stepbrother. I know visiting hours are over, but I've just arrived from Egypt and I had no idea it would be this late."

Mahogany eyes widened slightly. So this woman was the infamous sister who hadn't spoken to her siblings in over twelve years. Judging by the way she spoke, he assumed she was more like Rishid in personality than she was Malik, meaning that the blonde must have been quite the dark horse when the family was still together. She'd also said she just flew in from Egypt…guess a certain _someone_ never told her Rishid _wasn't_ about to kick the bucket.

'_Rishid doesn't want her coming over, ever_.' Malik had said, looking rather confused himself. '_He says it would ruin the nice sibling dynamic we have…whatever it is._'

So which Ishtar brother was responsible Isis's lack of information?

This whole thing was getting _very_ interesting.

"Doctor?" She said unsurely.

"Go ahead," he replied, closing his eyes. Rishid's reaction was going to be absolutely priceless; but would he be _happy_ to see her? "Tell them I said you can take as long as you'd like; just don't get in anyone's way, alright? Oh; and tell them not to call me unless someone's dying. Seriously."

"I will," Isis laughed, though it sounded a bit forced. "Th-Thank you very much doctor."

"No problem."

Bakura waited for the tell-tale click before ending the call.

"Glad to see you've calmed down," Ryou commented, his cup almost empty. "You know, you kind of spaced out for a little while; what happened?"

"Nothing important."

"Is that so?"

"Either way, it's none of your business; doctor/patient confidentiality and all that," Bakura shrugged, finally taking a sip of his coffee. "…"

"Cold?" His twin said sympathetically.

The young doctor threw his cell phone across the room in response.

-

Mariku's hand trembled slightly as he played the first few notes, producing a softer, more tender melody than he had originally intended. He played around with the keys for a while, experimenting with the 'song' before a rather sad, yet still somehow uplifting tune gradually emerged. After establishing the base, he tentatively began adding a few bold chords into the mix, all the while increasing the strength and intensity of the original melody. There were a few times when the song fell back into the barely audible notes from where it began, but those were quickly forgotten amidst the overall feeling of grandeur. Mariku finally got into the swing of things as the song was nearing its end, his key strikes becoming more confident, the melody more lively; no trace of sadness was left as he ended, a careless strum of notes being his signature 'finishing move' as some had jokingly coined.

All the while, Malik lay quietly on the couch, eyes half closed. Rarely did Mariku ever play anything so beautiful; usually the over pierced blonde attacked the piano keys with so much gusto that he tended to make more _noise_ than music. But when he actually sat down and attempted to take things seriously, as opposed to treating it like a very expensive toy, the results never failed to take Malik's breath away.

Mariku heard a faint rustle behind him and lazily began to play the piece again, taking care to remember each key that was hit.

"Did I wake you up?" he asked, turning to face the svelte blonde.

"I was just resting my eyes," Malik replied sheepishly, tying his hair back with an always ready ribbon.

"I didn't know that people could snore while doing that…"

"I-I don't snore!"

"_Yeah_…one of these nights I'm going to set up a tape recorder before we go to sleep to prove that you… Oh," a look of apprehension briefly crossed his face, "but what if we pick up weird ghost noise…"

"G-Ghost noise?"

"Yeah, I've read about it before," Mariku continued, dead serious. "There was this guy in Ireland who wanted to show his wife that she burped the alphabet in the every night when she slept, but when he checked the tape the next morning, all he could hear was a child's voice whispering…"

"What was it saying?" Malik asked fearfully, eyes wide.

"Malik, you don't actually believe this do you?" The other blinked, face deadpan.

"Uh…n-no?"

Malik blushed a very faint pink and looked away embarrassedly. Okay, so maybe he did…just a little…

"So are you ever going to tell my why you kidnapped me?" he said finally, attempting to change the subject. "Or should I conveniently forget?"

"I was going to tell you as soon as we got home," Mariku scoffed, "but you looked like you were about to collapse."

"Well, I've learned that being sleepy and riding with you don't exactly mix."

"You've been tired _a lot_ lately…"

"Yeah, I've noticed that too," he agreed, stifling a yawn. "We should really set aside one day a week where all we do is lie in bed and drink."

"I think those are called Tuesdays."

"…Oh yeah."

Mariku gave a low chuckle. It really was amazing; despite the heavy burden weighing in the back of his mind, Malik still managed to lighten the mood with his deceptively innocent banter. He knew that his rather manipulative housemate tended to 'play cute' whenever he wanted to avoid talking about something, even if he didn't know what that something was going to be. Though it didn't take a genius to figure out that Mariku wasn't about to deliver _good_ news; after all, you didn't barge into someone's workplace and abduct them out of the blue to tell them good news. He still wasn't exactly sure how he wanted to tell Malik about everything; initially, he had only planned to reveal the straight facts.

He owed the street gang, DOMA, a large sum of money. If he didn't get them that money, then they would go after Malik. After their meeting that afternoon, it was established that Mariku wouldn't be able to get them that money; therefore, because of the aforementioned threat, he was never going to let Malik out of his sight. Ever.

But he knew that additional questions would be inevitable. Why had he borrowed the money? Wasn't he already filthy rich? Did he have any other dealings with DOMA?

There was an odd squeak that brought Mariku out of his reverie; he looked towards the couch to find Malik in yet another sneezing fit. The small blonde had always been somewhat sensitive to cold weather and was very prone to catching colds. Mariku had phoned his mother for a vegetable stew recipe that she regularly made for them as children; he could have sworn Malik almost cried when he served it to him.

"Excuse you," he smirked, powering the keyboard down.

"That isn't what you're supposed to say," Malik sniffed. "So come on, spill; what's going on Mariku?"

"Before I say, I need to ask you something. I won't ask for an explanation, I just want a simple yes or no answer, got it?"

"Sounds fun," the other agreed, draping himself over the couch's arm. "Shoot."

"Would you ever leave me? Under any circumstances?"

"No," he answered without so much as a second thought, expression unchanged.

"Is that the truth?"

"Mariku, when I told you I'd be willing to help you hide a body, I meant it," Malik scoffed, closing his eyes. "Incidentally, if that's what all this is about, then it really could have waited until I got off work."

'There it is again,' Mariku thought, moving towards the couch. 'He always so calm when he talks about stuff like that…'

"That's not it though, is it?" he continued, making space for the other blonde. "It's got something to do with _us_. And judging by your last question, it's probably something that you think I wouldn't approve of."

"Very perceptive, you."

"It's a _curse_ really."

"Alright then, I'm going to stop beating around the bush," Mariku sighed loudly, slumping onto another mound of pillows, sitting face to face with Malik. "I've gotten into some trouble with DOMA."

"DOMA? You mean that street gang that hangs out in Downtown?"

"I don't think any other organization would have such a stupid name," he shrugged.

"What happened?"

"Well…before my dad died, I was kind of–"

"Careless? Naïve? Stupid?"

"Stop helping," Mariku said crossly. "I was an unofficial member."

"Unofficial?" Malik repeated, raising a flaxen eyebrow. "Did you forget to pay the membership fee or something?"

"…Sort of?"

"What do you mean 'sort of'?"

"Look; when I got out of high school all I had for transportation was my dad's ancient clunker and some weird electric scooter. Dad had a thing for public transportation, said it was the only thing that helped him feel connected to 'the little people.' I, on the other hand, was already _very_ familiar with 'the little people'; so much so that I knew that if anyone saw me driving either of those 'vehicles', I'd be laughed at from now until the day I died."

"This 'little person' wouldn't have laughed…"

"Yeah, one out of a billion," he said scathingly, rolling his eyes. "So, one day, I walked past that bike shop at the corner of 3rd and 4th street–"

"Isn't that where you got your motorcycle?" Malik asked interestedly.

"Yes," Mariku said hesitantly, suddenly averting his gaze. "But…my dad wouldn't buy it for me. He said I would just add to the noise pollution."

"So how'd you…?"

"Well, I'd heard rumors that DOMA lending out money in exchange for a few months of 'service'; so I tracked one of their members down and asked him point blank if they'd make the deal with me…and…"

"How much was the bike?" the smaller blonde gasped.

"About eight thousand…"

"How much did they give you?"

"I asked for ten." Mariku answered unflinchingly. The rest had been used to purchase front row seats at a certain concert.

"And to get that you had to…?"

"Get my fingerprints on a few packs of cocaine…help hide some plants…you know. The usual. B-But I didn't kill anyone!" he added quickly.

"Wh-What? How could you even–!"

"Hey, I got my bike, didn't I?"

"Mariku, you…you got mixed up in all this because of that _bike_?"

"I was _eighteen_!"

"And rich!"

"You know, _having_ money doesn't mean much if you aren't allowed to do anything with it!"

"That's– You're completely missing the point! When normal people can't afford something that they want, they _work_ for it!"

"Malik, _sweetie_," Mariku cooed mockingly, "what on earth would you know about 'normal people'?"

"Meaning what?"

"What do you think?"

"You know what, forget it," Malik sighed, throwing a pillow at the other's face. "So because you were an impatient, spoiled brat who wanted a shiny new toy, you made a deal with the most infamous street gang in Los Angeles for some quick cash." Lilac eyes narrowed. "And let me guess; you still haven't paid them back, have you?"

"I have, actually. The only problem is that now they're asking for interest."

"Interest? For the love of–"

"And if I can't get them that money, they said they'd go after you."

"_Me_? What the hell do I have to do with any of this?" Malik exclaimed.

"Guilty by association, love. They've been tracking your for some time now; at work, at school…hell, I wouldn't be surprised if they were watching us right now."

"Please tell me you've called the police!"

"Malik, I used to deal _drugs_ with these people! If they go to jail, I go to jail!"

The small blonde suddenly looked very apprehensive. Mariku would be locked up? But that would mean he'd have to go away! He didn't want that...he didn't want to be left all alone…

"Then what should we do?" Malik said finally, still very shaken. "I don't want to have to look over my shoulder for the rest of my life."

'Wait…_that's_ _it_?' The other thought, surprised. 'No threats to leave, no slap in the face…not even a decent tongue lashing?'

"What do _you_ suppose we should do?" Mariku asked, throwing the pillow back. "You're the only one I've told about my time in DOMA; my father never found out and Mahaado was too self absorbed to notice (not to mention he'd rat me out in a heartbeat); I've got no one else to go to!"

"You don't _need_ anyone else," Malik replied, grabbing his hands. "You've got me on your side, yeah? I've got a lot more in me than you give me credit for."

"Like _what_?"

"A squeaky clean record! Just give me the word Mariku; I'll find the snake that's been spying on us and–"

"I am _not_ going to let you _kill_ anyone on my account!"

"Well I'm not going to let anyone hurt you on mine!"

"_Me_? Malik, did you miss the part where I told you that it was _your_ head they're after?"

"It may be _my_ head on the line, but they're really going after _your_ heart," Malik spat back, a blush staining his cheeks. "As horrible and cliché as that sounds, that's their main objective, and it seems like it's gone right over your head!"

"I can deal with hurt feelings Malik–!"

"_But I can't die knowing that I've hurt you!_"

Mariku paused, plum eyes wide. All this time Malik had been worried for _his_ sake? Why? _How_? How could anyone accept news like that so easily? Why wasn't he scared for his own life? It wasn't natural! None of this made any sense!

"What is _wrong_ with you?" he gaped, getting off the couch. "_I_ got you into this! All of this is _my_ fault! For the love of God! Get mad, throw something, hit me, bite me, leave me, DO _SOMETHING_!"

"I am! I'm going to help you Mariku!"

"Why are you being so fucking forgiving? You bite Rishid's head off for wanting to include his doctor on his damn will, and after I get your name on DOMA's hit list, all you do is throw a pillow at me. There's a _slight_ imbalance there, don't you think?"

"Mariku, before I met you, I was living life in a plastic bubble; all that mattered to me were grades and homework, I-I had no social life to speak of, and all of my friends were teachers! _TEACHERS_ Mariku! Even _I_ felt sorry for myself! I couldn't do _a thing_ on my own; Rishid would phone the hospital if I so much as broke a nail! It was borderline psychotic! I had _no _freedom! Winning that concert ticket was the best thing that could have ever happened to me; deciding to talk to you was the best decision I'd ever made! I'm not about to let some five year old mistake mess this all up!"

"That's all very sweet, but we're talking about life and death here!"

"No, this is about getting _them_ away from _us_!"

"It isn't _us_, it's _you_!"

"It's us!"

"No it isn't!"

"Yes it is!"

The elder blonde growled in frustration, "You know, arguing with you is like throwing rocks at a trampoline!"

Malik looked up, tears welling at the corners of his strange eyes. With a loud sob, he raised his hand and struck Mariku across the face; the other blonde didn't have more than a second to brace for the stinging hit, and was left with a throbbing, sizeable red imprint.

"Get this through your thick skull, you stupid idiot! _I love you_, and I'll do whatever the hell I want to help you out of this shithole you've gotten yourself into;_ GOT IT_?"

Mariku held a hand to his cheek and nodded silently; touched, stunned, and in a miraculous amount of pain.

-

When Rishid woke up in the middle of the night to find his sister sitting quietly by his bedside, he genuinely thought that he had somehow managed to pass away.

"I-Isis?"

The young woman smiled encouragingly and nodded, her teal eyes filling with tears. Long dark hair fell over her shoulders, slightly damp from the light drizzle outside; she was a little more bundled up than one would expect, though it understandable, as she was unaccustomed to the temperamental Los Angeles climate.

"Long time no see," she grinned, suppressing a sob and waving shyly. "H-How are you feeling?"

"What are you doing here?" Rishid exclaimed, now fully awake. He glanced at the large digital clock at his bedside; it was barely two in the morning.

"I thought that you were dead, or dy_ing_ at least," Isis shrugged, still wearing a weak smile. "I was pleasantly surprised to see that wasn't the case."

"Well I'm not _completely_ cured, there are still some tests they need to run and I'm under constant watch, but… Didn't the doctor mention _anything_?"

"He'd only contacted me once, telling me that you didn't have much longer; other than that, I hadn't heard from him. I suppose he didn't want the hospital to be charged for another long distance call." She laughed quietly. "He was the one who allowed me to visit you so late. I was _so_ grateful."

"Doctor Kagami is an amazing man," Rishid agreed, sitting up. "I was going to include him in my will, but…well, certain things prevented me from doing so."

"Oh really?"

"It's too much to explain," he said tiredly, rubbing his temple. "Maybe some other time. So. How have you been?"

"Busy with this and that," Isis replied indifferently, pulling a face. "I mean, what else can I say? At first it was rather exhilarating to share my knowledge with all the visitors, but after a while it finally dawned on me that tourists were only interested in hearing about the Curse of King Tutankhamen and all that nonsense." She sighed. "When will the general public learn to appreciate the beautiful simplicity of ancient papyrus?"

"When all the televisions and theatres in the world simultaneously stop working."

"Of course."

The pair spent a while trying to find other topics to talk about, clearly enjoying one another's much missed company. Rishid had found out that Isis was currently in a long term relationship with someone who she refused to name, obviously embarrassed. He found this oddly amusing considering that his sister was well into her early thirties, though he remembered her to be painfully shy regarding things like that. In turn, Isis found out that Rishid had been working as a mechanic prior to being hospitalized; he admitted than it didn't make much, but still enjoyed doing it simply because he found it fun.

But it was clear to both that they were trying their very best to avoid mentioning the youngest Ishtar sibling; Isis looked as if she couldn't wait for Rishid to slip up, but in turn, her stepbrother was being very careful not to. If she wanted to talk about Malik, then she would have to bring the subject up herself.

"…And so they finally managed to find the boy who had scribbled all over the tablet's display case," Isis chuckled, her cheeks a very light pink. "His mother was _livid_! We didn't press any charges of course, but it was just so _funny_!"

"Well, boys will be boys," Rishid smiled, knowing exactly what was coming next.

"Hee…do you remember that time Malik accidentally spilled paint all over that tapestry we used to have?" She continued, looking at him expectantly. "He was so cute when he was trying to apologize…I think he even started to wipe it around with a paper towel. _Adorable_."

"Do you remember what father did to him after he found out a few days later?" her brother replied, his face grim. "_That_ wasn't very 'adorable'."

"Rishid!" Isis said disapprovingly, eyes narrowing. "Was that really necessary? I was only–"

"Oh _come on_ Isis, you were totally baiting me."

"I wasn't!"

"Please. I could tell halfway through our conversation that you couldn't wait to ask me something about Malik."

"There isn't anything wrong with that," she replied defensively. "He _is_ our little brother after all; it's only natural that I'd want to ask how he's doing."

"Then you should have just done so instead of beating around the bush (rather poorly I might add)." Rishid sighed, folding his hands onto his lap. "So?"

"So what?"

"Ask away. What do you want to know about him?"

Isis looked away briefly, her emotions mounting to a fever pitch. She hadn't seen either Rishid or Malik in twelve years and her mind was buzzing with nothing but uncertainty. She was confident that Rishid would manage well enough without her, but poor Malik was only eight when she had left them. There was so much she had missed while she was away; his first crush, his first day of high school, his graduation… Those were moments that only happened once in a lifetime, and she would never have the privilege to ever see them. Steadying her breath, she carefully chose her first question.

"D-Does he remember anything about…that night?"

"No," Rishid answered, shaking his head. "Not at all. He remembers what happened before mind you, but…"

"He still thinks it was–?"

"Yes."

"Oh thank goodness," Isis breathed, an enormous weight lifting from her shoulders. "I was so worried something might have happened."

"Nope; everything's been running smoothly."

"So…my leaving _was_ really necessary after all, wasn't it?"

"Well it certainly made some things much easier," he replied, looking guilty. "How was it for you?"

"Horrible for the first year," she said, her voice strained. "It's _still_ horrible, actually, knowing what we'd done to him. …B-But it was for his own good, wasn't it?"

"Hey…it's not like he's _miserable_, you know? Right now he's living in this huge loft with his boyfriend; who would've thought that the first guy he chose to go steady with would be an heir to the Inanna family's fortune? He's been living the good life."

"He…has a _boy_friend?"

"We both saw it coming," Rishid chuckled. "He's too pretty for his own good."

"I wouldn't know," she laughed sadly, tears returning. "I haven't seen him since I'd left. Would you happen to have a picture of him?"

"There should be a few on my phone," he said, gesturing to his old clothes; they hadn't been worn in over half a year.

Isis retrieved the small device excitedly, immediately enlarging the first thumbnail that held a flash of light blonde. The attractive, innocent face of Malik Ishtar came into view, paired with the dark fur of a small dog that he held in his arms. Rishid explained that he had taken the photograph while they were at a local pet store; Malik became infatuated with a black Pomeranian puppy he had seen from the window and had begged to go inside so they could play with it for a while.

Rishid had never seen him so happy.

Isis switched to the next photograph, this one picturing Malik with his back towards the setting sun; after noticing the palm trees, she guessed this was taken at somewhere on a beach boardwalk.

"He's _adorable_," she cooed, placing a hand over her mouth. "Oh…he's all grown up."

"Looks can be deceiving," Rishid snorted. "He's developed a bit of an attitude."

"Well you can't blame _him_ for that."

"…I know."

Suddenly, Isis looked very troubled, her eyes glued onto one particular feature of her brother's face. Once again, his pale, chilling irises stole the show, distracting her from everything else. She was one of the few people lucky enough to know how Malik's eyes had once looked; needless to say they were nowhere close to the empty lilac orbs they had become.

"His eyes are exactly the same as they were on that night," she said quietly. "Nothing's changed…at all. Does this mean–?"

"It doesn't matter what they _look_ like; the important thing is that he doesn't remember a thing, and that's what we wanted, right?"

"I suppose…"

"Isis."

His sister looked up, crestfallen, Malik's photo still flickering on the phone's screen.

"It'll be alright." He said reassuringly. "We can do this."

"I don't know if I can keep it from him any longer," she sighed, tears starting to spill from her eyes. "This is _cruel_ Rishid. I know we did it to protect him, but…but he should be able to handle it now. He's old enough to–"

"Isis, you _can't_."

"But–"

"You can't _ever_ tell him. He's going to college, he has friends (questionable ones, but friends nonetheless), he's got a job…he has a life. Do you really want to ruin it from him? He's _happy_ not knowing."

Isis bit her lip, looking once again at her beloved baby brother. He had grown so much in her absence; the pudgy cheeks she had pinched in the past were all but gone, and the seemingly permanent smile on his face was replaced by a confident, yet slightly disdainful smirk. The young man peering boldly from within the screen was undoubtedly her brother, but at the same time, he was a complete stranger.

And in order to keep her promise to Rishid, she and Malik would have to remain as such. Despite wanting nothing more than to hold her brother in her arms once again, Isis knew that reappearing in Malik's life would cause more harm than good.

'We're doing this because we love him,' she reminded herself the same way she did every night before bed.

"Are you going to be alright?" Rishid asked worriedly, placing a hand on her shoulder. He could feel her trembling.

"I've lasted twelve years," she muttered under her breath, finally closing the picture. "I think I can manage a few more."

"I'm sorry…"

"Don't be. I agreed to this, and I'm sticking with it for as long as I must." "

She cleared her throat and dabbed at her eyes with the ends of her scarf.

"Well, anyway, I'm going to be in town for the rest of the week; I'll be staying at the Westin on Bonaventure," Isis said brightly, picking up her bag. "So if you need me, just give me a ring; Room 402."

"I'll keep that in mind," Rishid nodded.

Isis paused before exiting the room, looking over her shoulder, a noticeably defeated expression on her face. She fiddled with her purse's handle nervously.

"Could you…give Malik a hug for me the next time you see him?"

-

Okay, so I had about three different variations for Mariku and Malik's scene; one was more dramatic (but I felt it gave away a little too much), and one just made me go 'eh'. Hopefully the one I went with was satisfying enough!

I didn't mention this in the last chapter, but I'd like to give a super huge thank you to **LovinTheTan** and **Flacks** for leaving me such nice reviews in the earlier chapters; while I was working on Chapter Four, I would often reread their comments to remind myself that there were people out there who enjoy what I'm doing :3

I'd also like to thank **Fiver** and **Shantih** for reviewing _and_ for writing such amazing stories! If you haven't already read them (_Homecoming_ and _The_ _Breath of an Outside God_ respectively), go do so after you review _this_ fic!

And finally, go onto my profile and check out my LiveJournal to find the melody that Mariku played at the beginning of their segment; if you're familiar with the song, then you can probably guess where I was originally going to take their relationship (but I didn't because I JUST COULDN'T!).

**Please Review!**


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